


Love, Lore & Legacy

by i_said_goddameron



Category: Damerey - Fandom, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Poe Dameron (Comics), Star Wars: Shattered Empire
Genre: A long time ago in a Viking village far far away, Action, BB-8 is Toothless, DameRey, Damerey Week, F/M, Friends to Lovers, HTTYD/Star Wars Mash-Up, How to Train Your Dragon AU, Viking / Fantasy AU, flangst, liberties were taken
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2020-11-08 08:29:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 46,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20832440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_said_goddameron/pseuds/i_said_goddameron
Summary: This is Yavin. It’s twelve parsecs past Wasteland and just shy of Immediate Hypothermia. Poe’s village. In a word, robust. It's been here for seven generations. They have hunting, fishing, and a charming view of the binary sunsets. The only problems are the pests. Most places have jakrabs or vesps. Yavin has... other things to worry about, but Poe would much rather think of Rey, the quick-witted, fierce baker girl in his dragon-slaying class.When Poe and Rey come face to face with a black and orange dragon they name BeeBee, it’s immediately clear that life on Yavin will never be the same.





	1. In The Bag

This is Yavin. It’s twelve parsecs past Wasteland and just shy of Immediate Hypothermia. Poe’s village. In a word, _robust_. It's been here for seven generations. They have hunting, fishing, and a charming view of the binary sunsets. The only problems are the pests. Most places have jakrabs or vesps. Yavin has... other things to worry about. Things that Poe would rather not worry about right now.

Poe’s head is in the clouds in more ways than one. In his dreams, he flies over the jagged cliffs, taking in an aerial view of the porg nests and the crashing waves below. He soars above Yavin, where the mist gives way to clouds and exhilaration. The dream was especially vivid last night, and a welcome reprieve from the expectations of his life on the island.

Salty wind tousles Poe’s curls as he watches for the first sun peek over the choppy waters below the cliff’s edge. His hair is almost as dark as the iron he works with, and reminds everyone of his late mother. Even in his looks, he can’t escape his family’s legacy. Knowing Rey will arrive soon, he runs a hand through in a futile attempt to tame them.

His attention returns to the sketchbook in his lap. The tea-colored pages are crammed with scribbles, diagrams of wheeled and winged inventions, and sketches of evil-looking creatures above captions like:

The Nightmare _Known to light itself ablaze_

The Night Fury _Never seen, never been caught. Never misses its target._

When he’s not dreaming of flight, Poe’s dreaming of Rey. He tightens the fur cloak around his shoulders in anticipation of their meeting, trying not to stare at the tree line where she’ll soon appear. His eyes fall on his leather-bound sketchbook once more, but his attention is where the wooded trail meets a small clearing before the land abruptly gives way to the frigid waters. This is Poe’s favorite spot on Yavin, and she picked it as their dawn rendezvous point. He felt even closer to Rey in that moment, though he could only hopefully speculate the reason she asked to see him in private like this.

Stealing a glance at the satchel by his feet, Poe starts to second-guess the gift he’s brought her. Everyone tells him to trust the Force, to trust tradition and the voice of his ancestors, but truth be told: Poe Dameron is second-guessing a lot of things lately.

For countless generations, the craggy heap of land jutting out of the sea had been his family’s homeland. What Yavin lacks in size, it more than makes up in tenacity. His Viking ancestors found a way to make this inhospitable rock a home and have led the village ever since. Soon, it will be Poe’s turn to lead, provide for, and protect the people of the island. Being the son of Kes the Fearless imparts far more pressure than privilege, but Poe has a spark in him, even if he sometimes has his doubts.

Just before sunrise, Rey makes her way up the steep trail, pointing her blackthorn staff in front of her. Low branches bend as she follows a path through the dense woods. She can smell the salt in the air through the conifers, hear the dull churning of the water before she can see it. Eager to meet Poe there, Rey hurries, trudging uphill in oversized, secondhand boots, and a woolen cloak she had sewn herself from scraps.

Mildly winded, she calls, “Poe!”

“Over here!” he answers, and she quickly finds him sitting atop a moss-covered outcropping of stone that pierces the grass. The book on his lap snaps shut and he stows it in his back pocket. The dark fur cloak he wears suits him. “I’m starving.”

Pausing, she stabs the end of her knotted staff into the lush ground. “If that’s how you thank me, maybe I shouldn’t bring you breakfast.”

“If I recall, it was you who offered it…” Poe teased. “But maybe I shouldn’t tell you what’s in the bag.”

Curiosity piqued, Rey can’t help but ask, “What’s in the bag?” She tilted her head so he could see her brunette locks wound up in triple-braided buns. She wants to find a soft bit of grass to sit on, but it’s still coated in morning dew.

“What’s for breakfast?”

Laying her staff to the ground, she decides to sit on the smoothest surface of rock close to him, and then reaches into a knapsack to pull out a coarse loaf of bread. “Fresh from the oven.” Rey rips it in two.

“Mmmm.” Poe accepts the offered half and smears it with a dollop of green-tinted butter from Maz’s banthas. Part of her herd was recently carried away, so butter has been scarce. The crust is still warm against Poe’s hand, and crackles when he bites into it. Rey is a damn good baker; she excels at about everything, in fact. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Rey dismisses through a mouth full of bread. Manners may be the one area in which Rey doesn’t excel, but she’s authentic and he finds it endearing.

They watch the sky’s subtle journey through the color spectrum as the first sun creeps over the water. Uncertain though he is about the gift, Poe enjoys Rey’s presence as they eat breakfast side by side, stealing the occasional glance at one another.

“You know, this is my favorite place,” he announces, closing eyes. It blurs the line between the sky and the sea and the land. “My mom used to bring me here.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.” She’s always been drawn to the solitude of it. Although she’s familiar with the soft ache in Poe’s voice, none of her memories bring comfort. “I love it here.”

“It’s the highest point in Yavin. Look,” Poe says, standing to climb atop the small plateau on the tallest rock. He reaches out a hand and assists Rey up the lichen-scattered granite. In the distance, their quaint village is just beginning the day. It’s the first time he’s looked toward their home since arriving here before the suns and before Rey. Poe always prefers to look toward the horizon.

Rey’s seen this view many times, but it feels different as she stands next to Poe. Perhaps that’s because one day, he’s meant to rule it.

The sea breeze whips the tendrils of hair around her face, and Poe steadies her when her worn leather boot slips against the rock. She can sense something amiss. “Are you nervous about the tournament?”

“No, not really. We’ve been training long enough, don’t you think?”

Rey shrugs. She hasn’t been training as long as the rest of Poe’s friends, but she’s just as fierce.

They climb down from the rock formation at the top of the cliff, back to the grassy clearing. The crisp air feels invigorating against her face, and Poe’s eyes crinkle when he smiles at her. This was the first break she’d gotten since the moon rose to its highest point the night before, but work calls. Soon enough, the second sun will rise and the bakery will open to the villagers. Rey ground wheat with a mortar and pestle each afternoon and lifted great pans of dough into a burning oven each night. Her lean arms are as strong as her will to survive. It’s tough to steal some time for herself, between the many duties under her uncle’s ever-critical, ever-watchful eye, but she gladly will risk it for Poe.

Rey has been working at her uncle Plutt’s bakery ever since her parents were carried away by a demon made of teeth and scales. The same kind that took Poe’s mother. Yes. Life is difficult on Yavin, but death lurks just outside the land’s edge, where there is said to be a great nest of the wretched creatures. That is why they train- to protect their homeland from dragons.

“You said you had a question for me when you asked to meet here,” Poe mentions as casually as his racing heart will allow. He rubs the moisture from his palms against his thighs, wondering if it was ocean spray or dew against the rocks, or simply perspiration. “And I guess it’s rude to ask like that but I’ve been dying to know. Was it about the tournament?”

The dusting of freckles across her nose are particularly charming when Rey scrunches up in silent concentration.

Did he completely read this wrong?

“Yes!” she nearly sputters, “Well, I’ve been saving up and I wanted to see if I could purchase a sword. Something... affordable? Maybe we could work out a deal where I can give you and your father bread—”

Poe internally deflates. Rey wanted to barter and was bringing him her product when it was freshest. It was foolish to get his hopes up that it was about anything more. But why did she ask to do a sunrise, cliff-side meeting instead of asking him to stop by the shop if it was strictly business?

His mouth curves back into a smile when he realizes his gift will be appreciated. “I’m gonna stop you right there.” Poe raises his hands, and then points to the leather satchel. “Open it. An early birthday gift.”

She pulls out fabric wrapped parcel, and unwinds the rough cloth to reveal a silver hilt. Rey’s hazel eyes widen. “No! Poe, it’s too much.”

Poe was disappointed that the meeting wasn’t about their friendship becoming more, but that’s temporarily erased by the look on Rey’s lovely face as she examines her gift. “No it’s not. Go ahead, give it a try!”

The hilt was ornate, with knotted designs framing an ice-blue crystal mounted in the center. Feeling a mixture of awe and uncertainty, she’s drawn to the weapon like she’s drawn to Poe. It’s a powerful attraction. She steps into the clearing and gives it a few experimental swings. Almost effortless to wield, it’s ideally proportioned for her size. “Did you make this?”

“I wish I’d made something so beautiful,” Poe admits as Rey twirls the blade through the air with precision. “Apparently, it’s been in the workshop forever. It was in an old chest I found. No one seems to know where it came from, not even my father.”

“Odd.”

“What’s stranger is my father actually admitting he doesn’t know everything,” Poe replies as he licks some errant butter from his thumb. Kes was kind and fair, but the role of chief imparted an additional layer of authority that alienated his rebellious son.

The silver metal cuts through the air with a satisfying “fwooo” and Rey looks like a legendary goddess swinging it against the verdant a backdrop.

She finally rips her gaze from the sword her hands feel destined for. Part of her is almost frightened by that, so she asks, “Why don’t you use it?”

_Because it felt like yours_, he wants to say, but he can’t explain how. So he doesn’t.

“I’ll be using my dad’s. All the Dameron men have used it to slay their first dragon, and you know how he is about tradition.” Poe steps closer, an earnest smile on his lips. “Please accept it. I want you to have it. As soon as I saw it, I thought of you.”

There’s a lump in Rey’s throat as she nods. It’s the most generous gift she’s ever received. She lowers the blade to her side, and leans into Poe for a quick, one-armed hug so he can’t see her blink a bit of mist from her eyes. “Thank you.”

Poe squeezes back awkwardly with one arm, savoring the warmth of the surprise embrace. When he inhales, she smells like the comforting nourishment of the bakery. They separate like two magnets held at the wrong poles suddenly released, repelling off each other.

Poe stares at the scattering of stones that break up the grass, as if they are a set of runes about to tell him what to do next, and clasps his hands behind his back. Rey’s ears light up crimson in embarrassment. She brings the sword point-down in front of her and presses her lips together in a tense line.

The charged moment stretches on, entirely too long, until it’s interrupted by the shrill screech of a hungry porg in the distance. Once. Twice. Each squawk deepens the suddenly uncomfortable chasm between them.

She breaks the silence first, a little unusual with Rey being the quiet one of the pair. “At least let me pay you for—”

“Not happening. Besides, it’s practical. The tournament is coming up and I can’t have my best friend trying to fight dragons with a blackthorn twig, now can I?”

“I could best you and your finest sword with this so-called twig,” Rey challenges with a quirked brow. “But I have to go open the bakery.”

Poe’s delighted by her competitive spirit. “I’ll count that as a blessing from the Force, then. Will I see you at the training with Snap and the rest of us?”

“Of course! I have to practice using my new gift.”

Lessons have been brutal as of late. Poe is quick on his feet and handles a blade well, but he doesn’t relish the idea like everyone else seems to. Dread washes over him when he thinks about the upcoming tournament. He understands the need to defend the village, but it doesn’t sit well. Maybe it’s the spectacle of killing a captive beast in front of an audience. Maybe it’s the rite of passage, the fact that it places him one milestone closer to being chief one day. Either way, Poe is thankful for Rey’s company through it.

His opportunity is passing like a cloud overhead as Rey slings the bag over her shoulder. It’s ridiculous: he carries the blood of noble warriors, yet he’s afraid to confess his feelings for a girl. Mustering his courage, Poe blurts, “I don’t want your credits, but I will accept another breakfast, when there’s time to properly enjoy it together.”

Rey flushes. “I’d like that,” she says before standing and moving towards the trees, her staff in one hand and the fabric-wrapped sword close to her side. “Thank you, Poe. I’ll see you at the next training.”


	2. Really Useful

  
Kes had left on an expedition, taking a slew of Yavin’s most formidable warriors and hunters along. Before he climbed into a langskip and disappeared into the mist, Kes squinted at his son. “Why don’t you make something really useful?”

The sting of those words lodged deep inside Poe’s chest.

With Kes away, the Dameron cottage is filled with the sounds of sawing and hammering. Taking advantage of the limited distraction, Poe arranges candles around his worktable to continue as night settles. Charcoal plans on parchment paper hang above it, including drawings for the infamous grain harvester. It was responsible for the destruction of his elderly neighbor’s fence two years ago. Snap and Karè never let him live that down and still mentioned the “burnt toast smell” occasionally. He keeps it around as a reminder to double-check his calculations.

Since that incident, Poe honed his math skills, determined to prove his worth. He may not be quite as imposing as the average Viking, but his ingenuity was an asset to the community. The warriors had gone in search of the dragon nest again, loading the ship with all manner of weapons from crossbows to spears. Usually, the boat returned lighter. When facing adversaries of flame and ice, keeping your distance is crucial to survival.

Wiping a gloved hand across his brow, Poe sighs while screwing the final fastener to the hinge of his newest creation: a bolas launcher. Two iron weights tied together with braided leather cord can ensnare a beast if thrown at its tail or wings. A downed dragon is a dead dragon, as Han keeps reminding them. Getting the damned things low enough to strike the kill shot was always the most dangerous part, though.

It wasn’t even so much that Poe wanted to kill dragons: Kes and the others need to come home safe. One of Poe’s greatest fears was of his father vanishing in a haze of smoke. Taking over the duties of Chief was a close second.

A crescent moon provides scant illumination as he pushes the hulking creation out of the workshop. The machine rolls on heavy, wooden wheels repurposed many times from various projects. It creaks down the village’s main path. He figures he’ll do a couple test launches then catch a few hours of sleep before a grueling day of training with Han. Wind whistles through the trees, soon joined by the crashing water as he reaches the clearing where he and Rey shared breakfast.

Yavin is more frigid than usual without the benefit of the binary suns. His muscles ache and Poe’s eager to get into his warm bed after the trial run. It’s a little miserable, but no coincidence he does this at night. Since the harvester debacle, the townspeople tease the young blacksmith for his… creativity.

From this height, he can barely make out the mist-veiled glow of the bakery in the distance. Thinking about Rey instantly makes him feel warmer. She’s the only one who keeps such late hours regularly, stoking the fire that feeds the village. He wonders if Plutt has been cruel today. Sometimes Rey tells Poe of pushing the heels of her hands into the sourdough with resentment. For a fleeting moment, he considers checking on her after testing his new contraption.

Poe rubs at his eyes a moment to refocus on the task at hand before he finds a suitable twig and sets it on the launching pad. No need to waste a bolas on a test-run. Waves churn past the cliff’s edge and an unforgiving wind howls. Poe can feel it even through his layers of heavy clothing, his tunic and fur-lined cape.

A crackle of orange illuminates the sky and he freezes. The blood in his veins freezes too.

Only one dragon does that: the Night Fury. It’s never seen directly, only the ominous flash of tangerine to warn of impending attack. No Viking on Yavin- daresay the planet- has killed or caught one.

His fingers buzz with electricity as he pulls the heavy bolas from his belt and loads the launching pad. Aiming the weapon toward the fizzles of orange lingering against the mist, he swivels the top. This is not how he envisioned tonight’s test run. Eyes narrowed, he rotates it, hand ready to shove down the lever. The color has completely dissipated now, leaving the fog around the moon a pure silver.

“C’mon you bastard,” Poe mutters under his breath, which comes out in its own puffs of fog. “I know you’re there.”

Another bloom of orange ignites and the lever cracks as it’s pulled back. The beast is much closer, this time the color is in sharp focus. Curling arabesques reveal nothing more. Some say the Night Fury is a ghost. The unholy offspring of lightning and Death itself. It might actually be true.

Poe holds his breath as the leather-corded snare flies.

There! In a flash of orange, the bolas catches something in the air. It’s accompanied by an inhuman screech. Trails of rust-colored smoke fall to the other side of Yavin, somewhere beyond Beru Point.

Treetops in the distance blur and shake with movement, though he can’t discern where- or if- it lands.

“It kriffing worked!” Poe shouts to himself in hysterical disbelief. “I… I hit a Fury. I hit a Fury!”

He’s going to find it. Kill it. Prove to Kes and to Rey and to everyone that he can do something good for the village. He’ll be a hero. A true Viking.

Abandoning the launcher, he scrambles down the hill, leaping from stone to stone in the moonlight. If he cuts through the forest, he’ll shave off some distance and time but it’s dense. Low branches and leaves begin to thwack him in the chest and face in the dark, so he finds the trail again.

His boots crunch along the path as he runs toward Beru Point, when a crashing sound makes him flinch. Banthas bellow and grunt in excitement.

Heart pounding, Poe changes direction in search for the source of the noise. Perhaps the dragon wasn’t trapped. Maybe it’s loose, already burning their homes to ash.

“DAMERON!”

It’s Han. Han the Horrible, he fancies himself, his father’s closest friend. The tall man is the senior blacksmith of Yavin, making him Poe’s boss and teacher (things are rough in a small village). He’s said to have fought pirates and rival tribes. Drunken boasting tends to vary with each retelling. The count swells depending on how much ale he’s drunk, but Han has been personally responsible for the extermination of dozens of dragons.

“What the Karking Hell have you done this time?!” Han’s hands are waving in the air from the edge of Maz’s property line at the bottom of the hill. Poe jogs over, relieved to see nothing is engulfed in flames.

“Han! Han I just—“ he stops short and pales more than the crescent moon when it comes into focus. Maz’s fence wasn’t the only thing torn down this time: half the North side of her barn is missing too. A few banthas have already wondered out, lowing as they graze on the previously-forbidden grass.

Maybe Poe is cursed. He’s angered the Force, the Maker and his ancestors: In his haste forgot to secure the wheels on the bolas launcher… which he left on a hill.

He desperately needs to come through with that Night Fury now. Or write this epitaph.

The owner of said fence, barn and banthas is a miniature eccentric. She cackles to herself often but still retains a mental sharpness of a battle axe. She’s the Seeress of the village, a keeper of wisdom. Poe doesn’t exactly grovel, but it’s something akin to that. “Oh, oh Maker! I’m so sorry, I’m gonna make it up to you. Patch it up once the suns rise—“

Their glares pierce into Poe and he’s sure to catch the wrath of his father but there may be a _Night Fury_ on the other side of the ridge. He needs to get there now.

“Dameron.” Han growls in exasperation. Poe’s jaw snaps shut. Han offers one arm to Maz, and lifts a lantern to guide them to the damage to the wooden barn. “Don’t even try to explain. Come on, let’s take a look at this mess.”

Upon closer inspection, Poe notices blood on Maz’s hands. The high-pitched bleat of a newborn tauntaun comes from the West. She must’ve been assisting with a calving on Han’s farm; Maz has been the island’s midwife for 60 years. Poe trails behind them in silence. They survey the damage and he makes a sincere, albeit rushed, promise to replace everything.

“Enough with these inventions! You should be asleep, you have training tomorrow. If you ever want to kill a dragon—“

“Han, Han,” Poe is talking a lightyear a minute, palms extended in front of him. “Listen. I have to go now. Right now. There’s something very important—“

“Late for a lover’s tryst with the girl from the bakery?” For months, there’s been an insufferable amount of pining between the two. Han rolls his eyes at his apprentice often when the topic comes up.

Maz tilts her head knowingly. “She’s been awful patient. ‘Bout time you proposed.”

“What?!” Poe’s eyes expand two sizes and his breath is a white puff of shock between them. He’s already in trouble for one thing tonight, it wouldn’t be fair to get in more for something they didn’t even do. Maz’s cracked lips form a skeptical smirk. “No. No, nooooooo. No, ma’am. No, sir. I was only testing—“

“Listen, I’ll allow none of that business while your father is away.” Han jabs an accusatory finger into Poe’s chest. “You fix the barn and the fence- before training and before your father returns. Head home immediately after. I’ll keep this between us.”

“Yes. Okay, yes. You can count on me, first thing in the morning.” He’s already taking backward steps toward the trail. “I’ll see you first thing in the morning...”

“Poe.” Maz’s citrine eyes are slits in the lantern’s glow. “My herd. They’ll get loose tonight.”

“I—I need to do this. I shot down a Night Fury testing out the bolas and I have to go. Right now—“

“Oh, a Night Fury! Why didn’t you _say_ so! Of course.” Brow set low and stern, Han crosses his arms. “My best heifer almost died in labor tonight, I got no sleep, you throw a damn cart through an old lady’s barn- no offense, Maz-“

Nonchalantly, she wipes a red-streaked hand against her skirt. “None taken.”

“-and now you want to test my patience with a lie to get out of your responsibility? Poe, Shara raised you better.”

Disapproval saturates the last four words: Shara raised you better. But a Night Fury carried her away when Poe was only eight. This wouldn’t be a victory for him or the village, it would be vengeance for her. He starts to open his mouth one last time but decides to nod before he can bury himself any deeper. They wouldn’t believe him anyway.

“Go home and get your tools, kid. I’m not gonna tell ya again,” Han warns as he sets off toward his own cottage. Maz retires for the night, leaving Poe alone.

After coaxing the frightened animals back into the barn with some desperate kissy noises, Poe secures each one. He pushes the unharmed bolas launcher back to his workshop as quickly as possible. It groans and creaks along the dirt path. He retrieves his hammer and nails, jogging back with a wheel barrow with wood for the repair. He patches the destruction efficiently, wondering what horror awaits in the woods, tangled in leather. Has it escaped? It is dead?

By the time the last nail is hammered in, the sky has grown lighter and mist is dense above the grass. The first sun will break the horizon soon. Poe secures a dagger at his belt and sets off into the forest toward Beru Point claim his prey.

Knotted roots stretch up through the soil, like the fingers of long-dead ancestors pointing his way. After a respectable hike off-trail, he notices an unusual curve to a set of blackened branches.

Cutting down a rowan tree is bad luck. They protect against those who wield the dark side of the Force. This one’s trunk has been snapped nearly in half. As he examines the raw heartwood weeping fresh sap, Poe wonders whose luck has run out: his or the dragon’s. A charred scent lingers in the air amid the moss and soil. It’s close.

Evidence of burned leaves follows the trajectory of the trunk, creating a path straight to the creature. Scales black as the grave cover it, rising up its spine all the way to a pointed tail.

The Night Fury has a wide, aerodynamic head and almost feline eyes. It lay curled on the forest floor, tangled in the bolas. As Poe gingerly approaches, it lifts its head. Vertically-pupiled, tangerine eyes full of pain and fear plead for mercy.

Poe hoists his dagger in both hands, imagining the pride on his father’s face as he presents the heart of the legendary predator. They are trembling as he inches closer, shoulders and triceps taut as he prepares to drive the blade in. Dappled light from the barely-risen sun filters in over the scales and claws. It’s elegant, an intelligent creature destined for the clouds.

The beast sighs, slowly lowering its flattened head back to forest floor in resignation of its fate. And Poe’s heart shatters, as if dropped from the cliff side to the rocks below. He sees himself in this creature. He recognizes its familiar yearning for the sky as it’s tethered to the soil.

He can’t. Despite what his heritage dictates, he won’t destroy it. Shoulders unwinding, Poe lowers the blade.

“I did this,” Poe mumbles in shame as he inspects the bolas cord. Braided leather constricts the dragon’s wings, legs, and chest. Slipping the blade under the cord, he frees it with a couple of strategic cuts.

Instantaneously, beast descends, pushing him against the rock. He’s about to die. Leaning forward, the Fury smells him, apparently one to savor its meal first. Instinct tells Poe turn away from the mouth of serrated teeth, but he stares it down instead.

_Remember who caught you._

Gaze fixed on Poe, its nostrils flare.  
Poe’s chest expands as he imitates the gesture.

_Remember who freed you_.

It snorts, then bellows with its namesake rage.

A massive pair of scalloped wings extend around him, blocking out the dim sunlight for a heartbeat. The dragon throws itself toward the sky- curiously, without devouring Poe first.

The powerful gust of air tosses Poe’s curls around, and his smile lights up in astonishment.

The dragon’s flight is erratic, like that of a bat. He doesn’t see the dark Fury ascend to the sky- a piercing shriek makes Poe wince and shut his eyes. Leaves across the forest canopy shake as it grazes the top branches. Eventually, it disappears.

With relief, Poe checks that he didn’t soil himself. 


	3. Learning On The Job

In the mid-afternoon, the group meets at the arena: Snap and Karè (the nearly inseparable couple who share a single brain cell), Jessika, Suralinda, and Rey. Oh Rey. Poe is very aware of her as they lean against the wrought-iron bars. Ridged tauntaun horns on Poe’s helmet curve downward, toward his trim beard and hopefully direct attention away from his sleep-starved eyes. Fighting a dragon is anxiety-inducing enough, and now everything is more complicated.

For agility’s sake, Rey has opted to wear a leather vest and woolen arm wraps instead of a coat today. Freckles dust the pale hint of skin at her shoulders. She holds up her sword to Poe silently as their instructors approach. He responds with a humble nod, clutching the sword of the venerable Dameron family. Somehow, it feels heavier, as if the weight of their expectations has become tangible since looking into the face of a Night Fury.

Each recruit is decked out in gauntlets, with metal plate armor across their chests. Suralinda’s made up in fierce, cerulean war paint. Han and Chewie go down the line, examining their braids, their beards, and the dented, horned helmets inherited from generations past. A man of his word, Han mentions nothing of the bolas launcher incident when he reaches Poe, but he definitely told Chewie. It’s obvious by the mirth in the towering man’s eyes.

Chewie is outfitted in a shaggy, full-length coat against the Yavinese chill. After a run-in with a dragon when he was about fifteen, he developed a speech impediment. Words would come out garbled and strained for the rest of his life, on account of the injury, but Chewie won the fight by snapping the thing’s neck. Han could always understand him, though the rest of the village sometimes struggled.

Poe is four years older now than Chewie had been back then. Sure, it was a different time but a Viking is a Viking, right?

“Behind these doors are just a few of the dragon species you’ll learn to fight. The best recruit will have the honor of killing their first dragon in front of the entire village,” Han the Horrible explains.

A boulder forms in Poe’s gut at the reminder. The creature’s face is seared into his mind, eyes glowing like warm embers in a surreal moment. Empathy for the thing that brought so much pain to his family was unexpected. Kes would’ve disemboweled it on sight. Poe prays to the Maker he’ll never find out about that act of clemency.

The iron gate lifts and Han gestures widely. “Welcome to Dragon Training. Today’s exercise is called Last One Standing.”

Metal fencing encloses the space on all sides, stretching above them. Below their booted feet, bare sand.

Snap surveys the arena and announces to the group, “I hope I get a gnarly burn.”

“I’m hoping for a mauling.” Karè replies. Her fingers are wound around the handle of her axe, so she puffs a bit of breath upwards to blow her platinum bangs out of her eyes. It’s unclear whether she’s joking or not. “Maybe on my shoulder. Wouldn’t that be sexy?”

“Yeah, its only fun if you get a scar from it.” Rey’s wry smile brings her dimples into relief. Her accent is slightly different than the rest of the citizens of Yavin. Poe likes the way her a’s are softer, as if the softness of her mouth is responsible for them and not her being raised on Jakku.

Jessika rattles off stats of various species, comforted by knowledge amid the stress of their first official training session.

Han’s lopsided grin is back when they reach the cages. Poe doesn’t trust it. Chewie lumbers ahead as the group squints into the shadows at the back of the cell. Light reflects off a crimson scale as one shifts in anticipation.

“A Terror. They have the hottest flame of any known dragon,” Jessika blurts.

Han shouts, “The first species of dragon you’ll learn to fight is…”

Chewie’s weathered hand reaches for a heavy crank on the far wall.

“Wait!” Suralinda’s panicked voice calls, “Aren’t you supposed to teach us first?!”

“I believe in learning on the job,” Han shrugs. “Punch it, Chewie.”

Chewie pulls the crank as instructed. A heavy-looking beast launches out, an olive-colored mess of claws and flapping wings. Terror was an apt name for the creature.

The group scatters like rodents, each in search of a shield. Karè and Snap bolt toward the collection of weapons and tools mounted on the stone wall. They squabble over a blue-painted shield as the dragon circles overhead, pulling it back and forth for a moment.

“Snap, give it—“

“Just a second, I—“

“I karking swear, Snap—“

It’s almost overhead when Karè wrestles it from her boyfriend with one hand and jerks him into a crouching position with the other. She lifts the shield just as a wall of fire cascades down.

When the flames clear, their noses scrunch as they are filled with a pungent scent. Karè’s icy hair is blackened at every tip, and even Snap’s dark beard is singed, but they are both otherwise unharmed. Both blink in bewilderment, Karè’s axe dropping as Han announces, “You two nerf-herders are out!”

Chewie waves them both through a small opening and they watch as the chaos continues.

“Use those shields to make some noise!” Han instructs, “It can throw off a dragon’s aim.”

Rey wields the sword overhead as the Terror swoops down, grazing her forearm with a clawed toe. Wings beating sharply, it propels itself backward from the blade. She hasn’t quite made it to the shields yet, about twice an arm’s length away. She trips over her secondhand boots and begins to stumble. Protective energy rises within him, and Poe dashes in front of Rey, skidding on his thigh across the plume of sand and smoke to reach her before the beast can descend again.

“Hey! Hey!” Lungs might burst at this volume. Metallic rings fills the air as Poe smacks the hilt his sword against the copper trim of his shield. “Over here! I’m over here!”

With confusion, Rey recovers, snatching the shield abandoned earlier by the disqualified couple.

“O- Over here!” Poe draws the dragon away from Rey, and steps backward. Jessika and Suralinda stand with mouths agape. “Ooh, crap.”

Friction lances through Poe’s upper body as the Terror’s claws scrape against the thick wooden disk. Summoning all his adrenaline, Poe thrusts his forearm up defensively but he can’t hold it for long.

Rey’s blade gleams in the sunlight as it arcs- nearly glowing as she deftly maneuvers it. Leaping through the air, she swings then kneels with the follow-through as the movement is completed. They both flinch when a deafening shriek confirms she clipped the foot of the dragon. It turns, in search of easier prey.

“I should’ve studied!” Suralinda cries with regret as fierce eyes target her.

Jessika is the smallest of the group but moves in unpredictable zig-zags across the scorched sand. “Told you!”

For the first ones out, Snap and Karé talk more than their fair share of trash as the rest of the recruits attempt to subdue the Terror. Karè leans against the fence from the outside, fingers curling around the iron bars as she heckles her friends. “What? You gonna throw a book at it?”

A fireball roars from the Terror’s mouth, the sheer force wrenching the shield from Jessika’s petite hands.

“Out!” Han yells from the edge of the arena and Chewie lets her duck through the fence to join the peanut gallery on the other side.

Rey and Suralinda crouch as the dragon circles overhead. The bars of iron overhead rattle as wings brush against it. Suralinda’s mace passes back and forth between her hands as she licks her lips nervously. Playing it off, she flicks her blue-accented eyes at Rey. “What do you say we study at my place later?”

Before Rey can answer, the Terror is upon them. Suralinda hefts the mace and the heavy iron urchin on the end is thrust toward the dragon’s chest. It’s a solid blow, but it only serves to anger it. On the next swing, the dragon catches the ball within its mouth. Suralinda tries to jerk it back into her control, but it bites the chain clean off.

Poe’s heart is in his throat as he watches Rey push forward with a grunt. Her teeth grind as the broad side of her blade hits a gangly, scarlet-scaled leg. Pushed off balance, it lets out a cry and then spits out the white-hot mace head. Rey manages a somersault to avoid being roasted.

“You’re done!” Han intervenes, hooking Suralinda’s waist with a long, curved tool before it slams into her. Chewie escorts her to the rest of the group. On the ground, the mace head is still seething with heat, transforming the sand around the pointed nodes into a brittle sheet of glass.

“Guess it’s just me and you,” Poe nervously says to Rey. Under his helmet, his curls are soaked. The Terror approaches them with fury, a river of flame bursting from its jagged mouth.

Rey raises her shield and rolls across the ground as the dragon’s path detours straight for them. “Nope! Just you!”

Snap whistles as if his friends aren’t about to be incinerated by a monstrous reptile.

Instinct guiding his muscles, Poe darts away. One arm wields his sword in a graceful semicircle, the other hoists the shield. The Terror arches back to avoid the blade and its serrated tail swings wide, clipping Rey. Poe freezes.

It’s frightened. Curved claws dig into the sand defensively as it bellows another warning.

Poe doesn’t want to hurt it, but he can’t let it attack Rey. His heart is a frantic war drum. Next thing Poe knows, he’s on the ground on his knees, scooting away from the heated snout of the dragon.

“Pretty boy! Out,” Han barks from the sidelines, positioning the hook as a lifesaver in case Poe needs it. In his adrenaline wash, the words blur like the waves of heat wafting out of the nostrils before him.

Rey cuts between him and the ferocious beast, brandishing the blue-crystal sword. Shouting, she intimidates it back inch by inch, until Chewie slams the lever. Once more, the Terror is confined to a cage, and a collective sigh is breathed as it roars in frustration behind the bars. Poe seems to be the only one who realizes it’s also a cry of pain and fear.

“Rey! Our winner!” Chewie expresses his approval in a howl, heartily clapping. Jessika whoops and cheers.

Rey rips the helmet off, tousling her chestnut hair in triumph. Jaw falling open, Poe makes no attempt to conceal his awe when he looks upon her intense beauty.

“How’d you do that?” Poe mutters, unsure how to feel about what just transpired. He hesitated; did that make him a bad Viking or a good person?

Rey’s face crumples slightly as she searches for an answer. “I honestly don’t know... pretty boy.”

Meanwhile, their classmates have already unhinged the gate and jogged over. They congratulate Rey on her victory while Poe sits, ass in the dirt. A small, crimson gash from the dorsal ridges of the Terror’s tail peeks out at Rey’s shoulder. Karè snatches her arm to inspect it, huffing with jealousy. “Ugh. She got a souvenir? No fair!”

Did Rey actually think he was _pretty_? Was that a good thing? Or was she parroting Han to mess with him?

Han and Chewie make their way over, the larger of the two extending a paw-like hand to assist Poe up. Dusting off his backside, he thanks them. Han knowingly waggles his brows at his apprentice as Rey bashfully accepts the praise of their peers. Clapping his palms together, Han clears his throat. “Not bad for your first day, recruits. A word of advice: study together tonight. I’ll bring the Book of Dragons out at dinner time, but it has to stay in the Great Hall. Understand?”

Jessika nearly squeals in delight, always one to rush over and take extensive notes when a new fact was added to the great tome. Despite what Suralinda had yelped earlier, she looks just as perturbed by the suggestion of homework as she was by the decapitation of her weapon. They stow their shields and trot down the stone path leading to the main circle of Yavin.

“What happened back there?” Karè asks, “One minute, you’re kicking ass, then you just choked.”

Everyone’s eyes land on Poe and he feels Rey’s especially. Even in his armor, he feels naked.

“What do you think smells worse,” Poe asks rhetorically, with a pointed look directed at Karè. “Burnt toast or burnt hair?”

Hooking an arm around his girlfriend, Snap sniffs at the singed tips of her cropped locks. The other arm instinctively rubs at the pad of thickness around his abdomen. She giggles. “Kinda makes me hungry, actually.”

If anyone understands hunger, it’s Rey. She and her uncle survived the famine on Jakku before setting sail to Yavin. She segues, “Speaking of food, I’d better get back to the bakery or my uncle will have my hide. See you all at dinner?”

After agreeing to meet in the Great Hall for a study session later, they split off. Poe lingers behind, yearning for another moment alone with Rey. She’s standing to the side, squinting back at the arena in disbelief.

“How’s your arm?”

“Just a scratch,” she assures with a glance at the cut. “Did you hear the envy in Karè’s voice, though?”

They shared a brief laugh, and Poe runs his fingers through his helmet-smashed curls. “Glad you’re okay. That was incredible, you’re a real natural.”

Sincerity in her grin, Rey’s cheeks flush pink. “Thanks… I have to credit that sword.”

“No. That’s all you, Sunshine.”

“_Sunshine_?”

Poe nods, emboldened by the fight still electrifying his body. “Yeah. Sunshine. Is it alright if I call you that?”

Unable to hide her receptive smile, Rey’s hazel eyes cast downward. “Sure. I kinda like it… I have to go.” Her hand rests on his shoulder and he stands taller. “I’ll see you later, Poe.”

He swears he sees a bounce in her step as she sets off toward Plutt’s bakery. It makes his pulse sputter like the spring door opening on the Terror’s cage. Poe decides to take the long way home, drawn by the off-chance that the fallen Night Fury had returned to the spot near Beru Point. Though it isn’t a terrible hike, the lack of sleep and physical exertion get to him. Poe’s feet are heavy in his boots, and the sword seems to have doubled in weight since this morning.

When he reaches the creek, Poe sets down his weapon, then yanks off his boots and socks to dip his feet in the cool flow. It becomes a short waterfall over Beru Point, fanning out into a shallow pool. Poe sits above the falls and breathes in lush scent of moss. Pulling the sketchbook from his pocket, he reviews his drawings as the soft sound hums beneath. He tweaks an older rendition of a Terror, resting the sketchbook against his knees to add a narrower snout.

Turning the page, Poe begins to outline the Night Fury while it’s still fresh in his memory. Wide, feline head. Round eyes. A lithe, low body with squat legs and scalloped wings. It’ll probably never make it into the Book of Dragons, his catch written off as wishful thinking at best, or a pathetic lie to impress Rey at worst.

Poe struggles to understand why the dragon seemed disoriented after it was released. Was it as shaken as he was from the interaction? Was it photosensitive, partially blinded by sunlight like a mynock?

Movement shakes the underbrush near the azure pool. It takes a few moments to confirm the sheen of midnight scales, but it’s here. Poe’s Night Fury. Atop the waterfall, he holds his breath.

It paces back and forth in front of the freshwater, milling around the flora for a moment to compose itself before pouncing toward a fish- which makes a fortunate escape. The dragon scrambles to its feet and flaps vigorously, careening into a tree trunk once it’s roughly a man’s height from the ground. Another erratic run has the black beast’s wings kicking soil up in a furious whirlwind. It sulks in defeated circles, a scalloped tail flourish cutting randomized patterns into the soil.

That’s when Poe notices: Half the Fury’s tail is missing. It’s been rendered flightless by the bolas, barely able to hunt.

Pencil poised above his sketch, he smears half the outline away to better illustrate it. His grip fails and the pencil tumbles down the craggy rocks to the water below. Concentric ripples spread from the point of contact, and the Fury assumes a defensive stance. Snarling, the iridescent scales framing its head flashing orange as it rears back in search of the intrusion.

Poe snaps to his bare feet, sword in-hand, just before the drop where the creek becomes a trickle of water. He’s not about to underestimate the injured animal. “Hey, I’m up here buddy… Are you hungry?”

Inquisitiveness fills the Fury’s face as Poe moves slowly into the stream, pants soaking up cold water as he navigated the smooth stone. Fish swim against the current, making them slower targets up here. The Fury paces below, growling occasionally as Poe stalks the catch. Within a few minutes, his blade cuts the water with a splash, and a turquoise tail breaks the surface.

Poe lifts the squirming fish from the water and carefully climbs down the rocky trail the longer way around the miniature waterfall in his bare feet. In an exaggerated show of trust, Poe drops the sword to the grass. The Fury remains still as he continues his approach.

“Here. Go ahead,” Poe says, tossing the fish in front of the dragon’s stubby front claws. They shine like obsidian and Poe swallows thickly, attempting to subdue his fear.

It regards him with confusion for a moment, then snatches it. The beast turns his back to Poe, devouring the fish with a garbled sound. It spins around a moment later, causing Poe to flinch.

From deep within its gut, a rumble emanates. Poe takes a step back from the Fury, hoping he didn’t foolishly stoke the appetite of a desperate predator. It steps forward, closing the distance. Another step back, and the inky Fury moves ever closer. One more visceral grunt shakes Poe, who is eyeing the blade on the ground with regret. Rising up on its back legs, the dragon is easily twice Poe’s height.

“Easy…” Poe coos, praying to the Maker his voice doesn’t crack with fear. “Easy, buddy… I can get you more fish…”

A guttural belch echoes through the area, and Poe is suddenly assaulted by the worst stench he’s ever experienced. It hits him like an anvil fashioned from rotten seafood. Flummoxed, he blinks at the mound of regurgitated fish suddenly covering his toes.

Whining, the Fury tilts its smooth head expectantly.

“Oh. OH! You’re sharing,” Poe mutters as he crouches to scoop up a handful of the pungent offering. Slimy texture slips between his fingers and his stomach clenches in protest. “Thank. You.”

Subduing his gag reflex out of sheer survival instinct, Poe shoves the masticated fish into his mouth. It’s worse than expected. He attempts to pull his cheeks into a grateful smile, but it’s tense and artificial. 

Satisfied, the dragon shifts weight onto its haunches. It attempts to mimic Poe’s expression, a toothy grin that’s both endearing and ghastly. He smiles back in shock, and it suddenly turns on its heel. The Fury disappears back into the forest, dragging a torn half-tail across the fallen logs in its path.

“Okay… I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Poe deadpans after he spits the offensive fish out and swipes a forearm across his lips. He pulls his sketchbook out of his pocket and stares at the simple rendition of the Night Fury. He might’ve lost his appetite, but he has so much to tell Rey over dinner.


	4. Just Kill The Things

“It’s so amazing.” Jessika’s spoon waves in the air as she animatedly defends her hobby, thick blobs of gravy splattering onto the table. “I’ve read it ten times! There’s a sea dragon that spits boiling water and a—“

“Why read when we can just kill the things?” Suralinda asks, shoveling stew into her mouth. Her mood is still sour after losing her mace to the Terror earlier. Thick braids studded with pewter beads frame her face, now missing the sapphire war paint.

When Han sets the hand-bound leather tome on the table, Jessika’s eyes sparkle. The Book of Dragons is a heavy catalogue of all the knowledge complied from generations of warriors. On Yavin, it’s somewhere akin to military strategy secrets. Jessika’s come prepared with a notebook of her own, full of detailed diagrams and illustrations. Poe lets out an impressed whistle. His own notes, kept in his inside coat pocket, aren’t nearly as meticulous.

When the book is flipped open, Poe can’t help but notice the serrated edges of paper peeking out of the binding. A chunk of text- perhaps an entire chapter’s worth- has been removed. He opens his mouth to inquire about it, but promptly reconsiders.

“You read to learn their weaknesses. Strategize. Brute strength will only get you so far,” Han argues. “Dragons are clever so you need to know what they’re capable of and anticipate their next move.”

_Never could’ve anticipated being smiled at by a Night Fury,_ Poe’s inner voice quips.

“Pffft. Reptiles have notoriously small brains.” Suralinda’s reply is smug despite the earlier loss.

At the end of the table, Snap and Karè appear to be toasting each other’s company with severed eel heads. Their arms hook around each other’s, then they both take a bite. Han shakes his head in exasperation, “They’re not the only ones.”

Chewie shrugs and plucks a chunk of salmon from Suralinda’s bowl before the men bid the group farewell.

The Great Hall is a testament to Yavinese resilience. Traditional knotted carvings tell the story of the island’s settlement, of the threats borne from the sea and the sky. Lanterns and candles light the extended banquet table, flickering against the faces of the young recruits.

Jessika launches into an enthusiastic breakdown of the species stamina and defense statistics, and the group gathers around- but Poe notices one person is not poring over the manual.

At the far end of the table, Rey stacks fish bones at the edge of the plate. They’ve been picked clean, a habit that’s stayed with her since the days of hunger on Jakku. Her forehead crinkles as she attempts to build a small pyramid, which crashes down when Poe slides next to her on the bench seat. He scoops a length of eel from his bowl, then recalls the texture of his earlier ‘gift’ from the Night Fury. With a shiver, he lowers the spoonful of yellow-banded eel.

“I know I said it before, but you were really great out there today.”

She hums a half-hearted thanks but barely meets his gaze. She looks painfully exhausted, almost nothing like the fierce warrior who defeated a Terror just hours ago.

Poe’s fingers drum awkwardly along the wood grain of the table for a moment. “Do you wanna study together? Tomorrow we’re taking on a Zippleback.”

Rey responds with a sigh. “Yeah… I’ll come check it out. Just need a minute.”

“What’s the matter?”

A smudge of flour sits on Rey’s jaw, evidence of hurrying back and forth between the bakery and her lessons all day. Maybe all night. Of course, his instinct is to brush it away with the pad of his thumb and discover how soft her skin is there. He restrains himself.

“Are you sure you don’t know anything about that sword? What kind of crystal is in the hilt? Where it was made? Anything?”

An apologetic look sweeps across Poe’s face. That’s not the response he was expecting. “No, it was just in that old trunk with some outdated maps and weird old papers I couldn’t read. Maybe we could ask Maz.”

“Yeah, good idea. But I want to keep this quiet, just between us?”

“Like a secret?” Warmth infuses Poe’s chest at the prospect. Rey doesn’t demonstrate much trust in anyone. “Absolutely. But… why?”

“I can’t really explain, not here.”

“My dad knows. I showed him the whole trunk when I found it. Then I told Snap that since your birthday and the training were coming—“

“That’s alright. I just… don’t talk about it anymore.” Though confused, Poe nods. “You’ll come with me to ask Maz?” The way Rey asks makes Poe’s lungs tighten. It’s so cautious and hopeful. And she called him Pretty Boy earlier. A self-conscious hand finds its way into his curls automatically at the notion.

“Of course. I’ll bring the papers along, they’re still in the workshop.”

At the other end, the rest of the group is engrossed in a debate between Jessika and Snap. Rey gestures toward the back door. “Now?”

He should really eat. And study. Go check on the Night Fury. Get some sleep. But saying no to Rey feels impossible, even though they really shouldn’t be alone. He’ll just have to feed the dragon- _did he have a pet?_\- a bit later. “Sure.”

Immediately, her mood shifts. It’s resolute as she pushes up from the table. Rey abandons her dishes there and slips her sword into an old sheath. The pair attempt to sneak out the back door, which betrays them with a painfully loud creak of its iron hinges. The groaning of aged metal catches the attention of Karè above the squabbling of the group. A gust of icy wind cuts through the gap and the candlelight reacts in a momentary darkening of the Great Hall.

They are busted when Karè points and exclaims, “Ooooh! Independent study buddies!”

Four sets of eyes fall on them. Rey pulls her vest tighter around her slender figure, and Poe shuffles backward. Suralinda breaks first, letting out a robust laugh at their hopelessness. Jess and Snap begin snickering.

“We were just—“

“We, uh…”

“I actually have some stuff I promised my dad I’d finish before he returns so I’m gonna head out now. Okaybyeguys.” Poe’s words blur together. Rey nods, suddenly unable to rip her gaze from the fascinating muddy tracks across the floor of the Great Hall. Shuffling back to the table, he reaches for his bowl of untouched seafood stew, muttering an explanation of, “A snack for later.”

His brow subtly quirks at Rey on the last word, later, and hopes she will understand, but she’s standing there with a look of half-mortification and half-annoyance. The door between them shuts before Rey can really answer. Despite the cold in the air, Poe’s cheeks burn scarlet out of pure emotion. He can’t afford the extra attention now, especially after Han’s explicit warning. It feels awful leaving Rey in there like that, after agreeing to be trustworthy, but he will keep his word and ask Maz. Her curiosity is strangely urgent.

Thankfully, the main square of the village is quiet and no one is around to ask why he’s taking a bowl of seafood stew into the woods. The first sunset bathes the island in tones of magenta as he tucks the bowl against his side and starts toward Beru Point. Along the way, Poe is pestered by thoughts of Rey being upset with his gift.

Soon, the sound of rushing water mingles with the crunch of leaves and snap of twigs underfoot. Poe can only assume the dragon is still here. He finds a boulder and sits, scrubbing his hands over his beard as he over-analyzes the interaction at dinner. His friend was so unsettled, so desperate for an answer- it didn’t make sense. She commanded the respect of that Terror. Instead of empowered, she’s anxious.

Before he becomes lost in his thoughts, a shadowy darkens the bushes nearby. Scales brush against tree bark, and Poe gulps thickly in anticipation. He rises to his feet with his offering. “Thought you’d be hungry.”

The Night Fury creeps closer, lifting its snout toward the air to take in the aroma. Dart-like scales down its back lift, and its rounded ears perk up when it picks up the scent. Slowly, he sets the bowl atop a boulder and backs away. The creature is still skittish, rightfully so considering the typical Viking-Dragon dynamic. The blunt nose of the Night Fury settles on the rim of the rough-hewn bowl, sniffing the contents with suspicion. It recoils with a shriek then narrows its rich amber eyes.

Both his hands shoot in instinctively, palms visible. The words sputter out. “Whoa! What’s wrong? It’s fresh…”

Stepping forward, he dips a hand into the bowl and lifts the half-eel from a pool of gravy. He dangles it enticingly, but the Night Fury tilts its head in offense. The dragon snorts, protectively drawing its wing over itself like a cape as it backs away.

“Not a fan of eel, huh? I honestly don’t blame you. More of a porg guy myself,” Poe confesses as he stashes the objectionable seafood inside his vest. They probably shock the dragons when they dive down in search of fish. If half a dead eel can make a Night Fury retreat, Poe figures it could come in handy during training. “How about this?”

He pinches a chunk of salmon and waves it around. As soon as it sees the pink flesh, the dragon inches forward and snatches the entire bowl. It’s gone almost instantly.

After the snack, the dragon inhales deeply, then releases a quick pulse of orange flame in a spot under a tree. The grass steams, and the Fury circles the heated ground three times before settling in. It tucks his tail up and wraps itself in midnight-black wings. Grasped between its squarish front legs, the bowl is licked for any traces of gravy.

“Fish good, eel bad. Noted.”

Smoke tendrils curl around its nostrils as it cautiously watches Poe. He approaches slowly, hand out, but the Fury turns away just before his fingertips make contact. Instead, Poe sits cross-legged, a few feet back. He quietly observes the darkening woods, the cuts in the soil where claws and tail and wing-tips have carved out the dirt. And he shows the Fury he’s no threat, only company.

When it relaxes, its tail slips out onto the singed blades of grass. One side is completely sheared off, healing with a scab. The remaining side is scalloped, with sharp peaks and elegant curves creating a rudder- but half a rudder won’t get you far. As the light wanes, Poe pulls his sketchbook from his pocket and sets to work drawing the missing piece that’s keeping the dragon grounded.

* * *

  
Poe is sound asleep when the clatter of weapons and armor against the cottage floor startles him awake.

Nightfall had brought the return of the chief- days earlier than Poe had expected. He blinks at his father, who is dragging in another wooden trunk. Poe promptly steps in to assist the other end, and together they guide it into the home.

“Good news!” Kes greets him with a hug, jovial despite the obscene hour.

“Hey dad. Everyone okay?”

Kes grunts in affirmation as he sits atop the trunk. “We didn’t find the nest but we did make contact with an ally. We’ll be receiving guests. They should arrive in time for the tournament. It’s excellent timing, too. They’re lucky to witness the might of the newest dragon killers on Yavin.”

Poe squirms in discomfort and retreats slightly. Kes raises a brow. “Is there a problem?”

“No, sir.”

“This isn’t simply a social call. Diplomacy is crucial; it helps secure our alliance with Coruscant. It’s an opportunity to learn about this aspect of leadership.”

Poe’s smile is even dimmer than the moonlight.

“While I negotiate with the chief, I’d like for you to entertain his aides.”

“Before the tournament?” Panic edges into his voice. He’s made a promise to Rey. He’s responsible for a dragon out at Beru Point and honestly he needs to study and practice if he wants to avoid being barbecued during Han’s lessons.

“Poe.”

“The training is so rigorous. Really, I wish I had the time…”

“Fantastic!” Kes’s voice booms against the windswept night. “That’s exactly what I wanted them to see.”

Poe winces at the corner he just managed to back into.

“When you were younger, you didn’t always apply yourself… drawing all day. Making those silly inventions. But now… Han says you’ve been shaping up to be a fine, young Viking indeed. He told me you’ve sneaking off to train on your own, trying to get the upper hand on your classmates no doubt.” A wide palm slaps against Poe’s back at that, and Kes chuckles. “Nothing happens on this island without me finding out! You ought to know that by now.”

Poe grits out an awkward smile. _If you only knew._

“To that end-“ Kes reaches for the chain around his neck, lifting it over his head. A silver ring hangs from it, glimmering against the dying light as it twirls. “here.”

His outstretched palm accepts it and Poe gulps. The earliest memory Poe had of it was his father, crying into the hearth soon after Shara’s disappearance. He pinched the delicate loop of silver between two meaty fingers and hummed a song mournfully. Occasionally when Poe is tinkering in the workshop under candle light, he hears the melody drifting on the midnight breeze.

“Han made your mother’s wedding band, you know. When your mom… we couldn’t have a burial. There was nothing… and Han made a replica of the ring he cast for us, after she passed.”

This story was previously unknown to him. It makes sense, but he’s never considered the original was lost forever. “Han did that?”

“Aye. He likes to consider himself a scoundrel, but the man’s a real softie. Should’ve been dubbed Han the Huggable, not Han the Horrible.

“Anyway, if you want to ask Rey, it’s yours.”

“Dad! No, I couldn’t…”

“She’s tough as nails, whip smart. Good in the kitchen, even,” Kes insists. “And you love her.”

For the first time, it’s spoken aloud: Poe loves Rey. He loves her with the same devotion Kes still feels for Shara. And for the first time in this conversation, Poe can speak the truth. “Yes. Very, very much so. I’d like to ask Rey to marry me.”

“Then do it. After the tournament, in your moment of glory.” Kes studies his son with tenderness, assuming his feelings for Rey are the source of his furtive manner. If he looks long enough, he can almost make out the leader he will become. The ring stays in Poe’s hand, and Kes closes his son’s fingers around the loop of metal. “You’ll take your first dragon, and then you can ask Rey to take your hand. It’s perfect.”

Words fail Poe as his chest inflates with dread. He stares at his father- Kes the Fearless, the chief of Yavin- with a potent, but unreadable, expression.

“My boy, becoming a true Viking. Your mother would be so proud.”


	5. Rough Translation

Fetching bread from the bakery for his father’s first breakfast home after the excursion is a good enough excuse to be alone with Rey, Poe reasons. His real objective is to apologize for abandoning her in the Great Hall.

Golden light spills over Yavin as the first sun breaches the horizon, and Poe braces himself for her anger as he walks the short distance from the Dameron cottage to the bakery. The cryptic pages found at the bottom of the old crate are rolled up in Poe’s cloak, right against his chest. Releasing a low exhale, he smooths a hand across his beard before pulling the door handle.

“This… this is going to sound mad,” Rey begins in a conspiratorial tone the instant Poe is inside. To his surprise, she isn’t chucking a stale loaf at his head. It’s a good start.

Overhead, a thatched roof locks in the oven’s warmth, and the smell of grain permeates the air. Rey stands at the small preparation area, a few rolled oats stuck to her bare forearm.

“Tell me. Please… you’re kind of freaking me out.”

With a tilt of her head, she motions for him to approach the table. Poe chooses to lean against it, waiting for her to finish lifting a pan of dough into the oven just behind it. He picks up a jar and brings it to his nose, recoiling at the fermented bitterness within.

“Ugh, that’s definitely spoiled!”

A portion of the anxiety riddling Rey’s face transforms into amusement. With a stifled giggle, she holds out her hand. “That’s sourdough starter.”

“Oh,” he answers, as if that clarifies anything. He’s not sure what makes it humorous, but Rey’s cheeks are high and glowing pink, so he grins back.

“We only have a minute ‘til Plutt comes back.” She scoots close to Poe, leaning toward his ear. Voice nearly a whisper, Rey closes the jar and checks out of the small window while she makes her confession. “When I was fighting the Terror? I felt something...”

Did she want to lay down her weapon when she looked into the dragon’s eye? Was she struck by how needlessly barbaric they were against these intelligent creatures? Poe has his own confessions to make to Rey, and he’s afraid his tongue will become unruly like one of those repulsive eels. He’s afraid it’ll fall out of his control and make a mess of all the trust Rey has placed in him.

“It was— Oh, this is so hard to explain…”

“Sunshine, it’s okay.” It takes an act of the gods for him to resist caressing her hand as it grips the counters edge. Poe’s fingertip comes to a halt millimeters away, redirecting to trace a spiral in the flour in the countertop absentmindedly as Rey summons her courage.

“It was like… lightning flowing through me. As if the sword was a kind of conductor.”

“Lightning.” His lips press together in silence for a moment. He recalls her look of triumph, the way she brushed off the scratch. The way she insisted it was the sword’s credit. Poe is rarely silent, except when he’s being lectured by an elder, and Rey knows this. Her pulse rattles nervously in her throat until he asks, “It didn’t hurt?”

“It was exhilarating. Did you ever use it? Did it make you feel like that?”

“No, I just goofed off with it a little before giving it to you. I didn’t feel anything weird.” Poe takes a long look at Rey. “But I believe you. What do you think it means?”

“Maybe the sword isn’t just old or different: It’s _special._ Does that make sense?”

Poe supposes so; a sword is only as deadly as the one who wields it. And maybe it is more powerful in her hands. The first time he saw the crystal embedded in the hilt, the color of the springtime sky, he somehow knew it was destined for Rey.

She wipes both hands against her apron, and twiddles the end of the string drawn against her hips. They are quiet, standing side by side at the counter of the Plutt bakery. “You don’t think I sound mad?”

“No,” Poe assures. “You sound a little overwhelmed. I get that.”

Rey struggles to articulate the way it felt to surge with raw energy. It was frightening, the vastness of it. When she closed her eyes and abandoned herself to it, the sensation was like diving off a cliff into the aquamarine depths below. If she doesn’t learn what this is- and why it’s happening- Rey risks being swept away in its current. She wants to tell Poe this, but instead she says, “It’s not a scary feeling, not really.

“I’ve been dreaming. Dreaming of flying. My dreams have been so vivid lately, since you gave me that sword. I’m soaring and Yavin is this speck on the horizon. And I feel…”

His mouth nearly falls open. _He_ dreams of intoxicating freedom among the clouds. Always has. Shara’s ring is suspended on a chain around Poe’s neck, hidden under his cream tunic. Honestly, Poe considers getting down on one knee right there.

“…well. I don’t know,” she finishes softly, looking deep into his chestnut eyes. “I feel a lot of different ways.”

“That’s understandable,” Poe responds. It’s all too relatable, given his own questionable allegiance with the giant reptile currently at Beru Point, and complications of family guilt and romantic pining. He swallows carefully, trying not to coddle the stubbornly-independent Rey. “Are you still going to use it?”

“Not until I learn more… Do you really think we can trust Maz?”

“I’ve known her since I drew my first breath. And my dad trusts her.”

“Shit! Plutt’s back,” Rey blurts. “Get down.”

Poe’s head is shoved down before he can protest, and he crouches behind the counter. It brings him back to childhood, when he and Snap were caught stealing koyo melon from the groves along the East side of the island. In fairness to Snap, that particular bad idea had been Poe’s. Just like sneaking here at dawn had been. Hopefully this will end better.

Heavy boots thump inside, as the door slams shut with a gust that sends loose flour into the air. The particles dance and drop to the floor in the glow of the fire as Poe holds his breath, listening.

“I have a delivery of five loaves to the Seeress.”

Rey’s voice is surprisingly confident in the lie to her uncle. Sourness spikes the air upon his entry and Poe wonders if the jar was opened again or if the man always smells like a brewery. Most people in the village make an effort to avoid the stout, ill-tempered drunk, but that’s one of the many luxuries Rey doesn’t enjoy.

“Really?” Plutt is skeptical, double chins tripling as he tilts backward. He examines Rey, searching for an objection but coming up short. “Go ahead then, girl. Be quick.”

_This man doesn’t even call her by name_, Poe marvels. Then again, his wretched mouth doesn’t deserve the elegance of it.

Plutt leaves after some barked directions, and Poe emerges from the back of the bakery to walk alongside Rey. A bundle of five loaves of bread occupies his arms. They’re quiet as they approach the small cottage. Poe notices the newly-repaired section of barn and fence with a slight flush in the tips of his ears.

The door swings open, as if she is waiting on the delivery. She never ordered anything; Rey’s lie was an excuse to slip away. Nevertheless, Maz Kanata stands at the threshold expectantly. Around her neck is a chunky woolen scarf wound many times, but both ends still nearly graze the floorboards due to her small stature.

“We have a gift for you, Seeress,” Rey begins cordially. “And a favor to ask.”

She regards Rey thoughtfully, “Come in,” then turns to Poe with hands on her hips. “Graced with your presence again so soon, young Dameron?”

“My fondness for you is no secret,” Poe retorts with the most charm he can muster, praying Maz is not the grudge-holding type. She waves them inside with a look of curiosity.

Artifacts and talismans are tacked into walls and stacked within glass jars, which line the woman’s home from floor to ceiling. Crystals, scales of sea serpents and feathers from exotic birds fill containers of all different sizes. Volumes of heavy books form columns on either side of a miniature chair centered in front of the fireplace. Maz gestures to a crude wooden table with only three tiny stools. Their knees bend at a radical angle when they attempt to sit, but neither wants to risk offending their host.

Shuura jam and a small jar of butter are laid out already, next to a handsome set of horn-handled knives. All that’s missing is the glutenous centerpiece. Rey and Poe exchange a bewildered glance at the realization as he places a loaf in the empty spot at the center of the table. Next to a neat stack of credits worth exactly what Plutt charged for five loaves of bread. Rey pockets the credits with a gracious nod.

“May I see it?” Maz asks Rey, who is grateful for the lack of pretense or formality. Two bony hands are held out to receive the weapon. She hands over the sword tucked into a sheath at her back and the Seeress takes it with reverence. Time-weathered fingers trace over the designs on the hilt, winding knot-work and scrolls revealing the dazzling aquamarine crystal at the center. “Ahhh, kyber. The stone of the dragons, according to the ancient ones.”

“The Jedi?”

“Please, help yourself to some butter and jam. I’ll need help eating all this,” Maz dismisses. They don’t have time to entertain the old legend of the Jedi now. “When kyber are far from their source, they lose some of their brilliance. The closer they are to their origin, the brighter they become. And the more powerful.”

Rey picks up a knife and runs her fingernail along the head of a ferocious beast carved from tauntaun horn. The butter is dense and rich, tinted green like the fields where the bantha roam. Plutt doesn’t let her have it often. She then dips it into the yellow shuura jam, liberating a large chunk from the jar. Butter and jam are loaded thick on her slice, and Rey’s eyes flutter closed at the first bite.

When they open, Poe is staring at her from across the table with an expression that turns her stomach into a buzzing hive. Deep parentheses frame a soft smile she can’t help but stare back at. Rey swallows, and they snap out of their trance when Maz’s attention focuses on him.

“You’ve brought me some reading material, too.”

Poe blinks and pulls the paper from his coat. Neither he nor Rey had mentioned it yet. Unfurling the aged pages on the table’s surface, he reveals paragraphs of an unknown dialect and strange geometric diagrams. “They were found with the sword. In an old trunk in the workshop.”

Squinting at the faded text, she adjusts circular glasses along the bridge of her nose. Both Rey and Poe lean in, each from opposite sides of the table. After rearranging their order several times, Maz hums in satisfaction.

Rey crams the rest of the warm slice into her mouth. Poe approaches the food with much more timidness. His bites are deliberate, polite. Rey rubs crumbs from her bottom lip and flicks her eyes nervously at him as Maz stands. Poe rises as well out of courtesy and is quickly shooed back into his seat.

Maz stands on a stool and leans across the table to scrutinize the pages, poring over each one with a twisted fingertip and holding each to the light of a candle.

Finally, she mumbles low, something about a prophecy, an annihilation.

“A _what_ now? Annihilation?”

She ignores Poe and continues, “One which can only be stopped through…”

“What?” Poe and Rey gasp in unison.

“You’re missing the end.”

“What?” Poe repeats. “No, no, that’s all that was there. I double-checked.”

Maz shrugs and says flatly, “it stops there. You’re missing the last page. And the beginning. And the some of the middle.”

Poe deflates, sure they would receive more information than this. His knees bump into the underside of the low table and he rubs the left one with a scowl.

“What was this about a prophecy?” Rey asks tentatively.

“Everything changes with time. Language included,” she answers slowly as her wrinkled hand reaches for a teacup. “It could just as easily mean ‘story.’”

“Please,” Rey presses. Her face is tight, appealing to the wise woman with earnestness. “We need to know.”

Poe’s brows twitch, “Annihilation. I clearly heard you say that. Of who? Yavin? Of the dragon nest?”

“It’s a rough translation.”

Two fists form in Poe’s lap at the mysterious response. If some kind of doom is impending, he’d really rather know.

Maz senses his frustration, but doesn’t waver. “Change is coming, child.”

“Is the sword safe for Rey?” Poe asks. Perhaps a direct question will receive a direct answer.

“Yes. And it’s safe _with_ her.”

Rey’s forehead creases in confusion, “Maz, what does that mean?”

“You’re Force-Sensitive, of course.”

“I… I thought that was just lore,” Rey sputters, eyes large as the saucer in front of her.

“Oh, it’s very real. I’m no Jedi but I know the Force,” Maz insists. “Kyber amplifies one’s sensitivity, perhaps that’s why you didn’t know earlier.”

Poe looks dubious, and Rey can’t discern whether it’s for her safety or a reaction to the outrageous claim.

With a distant look out the window, Maz smiles gently before gesturing to the pile of bread they brought. “How fortunate you baked extra today. Take them with you, Poe; your father’s guests will arrive soon. They’ll be hungry after such a voyage.”

Poe stands and collects the rest of the untouched loaves with a slight bow of thanks. His manners are intact, though he is rattled, quickly washing their dishes despite the eye rolls behind the acute magnification of Maz’s glasses.

Rey sits silently, hazel eyes trained on the yellowed pages fanned across the table. The skin on the back of Seeress’s hands is thin as the crepe paper hung during festivals when she gently places them over Rey’s with a warning. “Change is coming. Ready yourself.”

  
  


* * *

Kes greets Poe with crinkled eyes, a fresh pull of his razor revealing a stripe of bare skin along each of temple since Poe saw him last night. Silver threads run through his straight hair, which is kept in a low braid against his muscular back. Bacon pops on the stove under his spatula- which he uses to point at the bundle under Poe’s arm. “Generous of you.”

“They’re for our guests,” he answers as he carefully arranges the loaves on the table. Even though Poe ate, the smell of the bacon makes his mouth water.

“And what tells you they’ll arrive so soon?”

Poe removes his cloak and hangs a pot of caf over the fire. “Call it a hunch.” _Call it lying to my dad. This is becoming a habit. _

“Surely that hunch has nothing to do with a certain girl,” Kes teases his son, “who only happens to…”

Poe’s smirk widens into a playful grin as he turns, wielding a poker. Twirling the red end, he laughs, “I’ll not have you besmirching her honor.”

“Besmirching?!” Kes nearly shouts with delight, pointing his own utensil menacingly. How he’s missed his son these last weeks. “When did you get such a fancy vocabulary? Certainly you didn’t pick it up from me. Or Han.”

“Oh come on, you know.” They both know where it came from: the times when the entire Dameron family gathered around this same hearth to hear Shara read tales of adventure and romance and righteousness. Shara’s memory has a way of disarming Poe, of silencing Kes. He turns the log over and props the poker against the wall with a sigh. Flames dance within, hypnotic as he remembers the animated voices and moral lessons. “I wish she could’ve met Rey.”

Poe feels a pang of betrayal in the knowledge that Shara is gone because of a dragon. And he’s feeding a dragon. (One who hasn’t been fed in a while, he realizes with a start.)

“How does Rey like her sword, by the way?”

Suddenly, it feels much warmer in front of the fire. Poe’s throat is parched and he reaches for the pot of caf. “She likes it.”

“Good. That’s good.” For once, Kes doesn’t prod.

Quiet befalls the cottage, interrupted by the occasional sputter of grease as Kes returns his attention to the stove. It’s only slightly melancholy as each man privately recalls those times. 

Knuckles rap against their door harshly before the two finish can finish the meal. Han steps through the threshold when the chief’s booming voice permits entry. “They’re here.”

“Earlier than I expected.” Kes raises a brow at Poe, who shrugs sheepishly. “Some hunch.”

“Yeah,” his son answers through the crunch of bacon, “weird.”

“I’ll meet them at the bay and see them to their lodging,” Kes informs Han. “Poe, you’re representing me, the Dameron family, and Yavin today. I’ll bring our guests to the arena shortly before training for a tour.”

Poe straightens. “I understand.”

Han shoots him a look of concern, and a “you’ll do fine, kid,” muttered from the side of his mouth.

* * *

Poe grips his tauntaun-horned helmet, so it doesn’t fall into the water as he hoists the fishing net up. A catch of salmon writhe within, gleaming pink in the light, and he grins with accomplishment. Most of them are still squirming when he reaches the waterfall at Beru Point.

A high-pitched whistle echoes through the foliage as Poe calls the dragon. Obsidian scales soon appear from deep within the underbrush. “Mornin’.”

The beast’s focus isn’t purely on the fish. It examines Poe, circles him curiously. He realizes he’s left his helmet on, his sword still sheathed at his back, though he maintains a friendly posture. Poe offers the contents of the net, spilling them onto the grass at the dragon’s paws. It sniffs gingerly before tearing into the pile.

While it gorges itself, Poe ventures to the area where the dragon emerged, following the grooves where the scalloped end of its tail cut into the soft soil. The mouth of a small cave beckons, and he enters with caution.

Bones. Stacks of bones, like what had teetered on the edge of Rey’s plate in the Great Hall. He identifies a few of the smaller woodland species among them.

Paling slightly, he searches for an explanation or sign of human interference yet finds none. When he turns, the Night Fury is silhouetted in the mouth of the cave. It rubs against the opening of stone, purring and chirping in contentment as it watches him.

Poe squints at the dragon with an incredulous smile. “You’ve been able to hunt and fish this whole time?”

Nonchalantly, it picks a fish skull from between its teeth using a front claw in response.

“…dick.”

Offended, the dragon huffs and exits the cave, climbing a low branch. Its back claws dig into the bark as it succumbs to gravity’s pull and hangs upside down, enveloping its body within wide, scalloped wings. The branch sways under the strain for a moment, and the dragon like a pendulum with it. When Poe approaches, it pulls the wing over an amber eye.

He laughs, despite himself. Duped by an animal.

“Maybe I deserve that. But I have a gift you for later.” The edge of the wing lowers slightly, uncovering its vision. Poe smiles at the inverted creature and the dragon mimics it again, jerking its wide mouth up at the corners. “Hopefully it doesn’t backfire like the last thing I made.”


	6. You Had Doubts?

A trio of aides to the Coruscant chief gather in the center of the village. The tallest is a gleam of metal in highly-polished armor plates that cover her torso and arms, the other dressed in pure black, armor plates burnished to a dark matte finish. The silver woman’s hair is the color of frost on wheat, with scrutinizing eyes to match. A flame-haired man whispers something into her ear.

Slightly apart, a man with warm brown skin surveys the rolling hills that disappear into forest. He’s half a head shorter than the other two, with a practical nature to him despite the sharp lines of his clothes. About Poe’s age- twenty or so- but apparently of high rank. Deciding he is the most approachable one, Poe strides forward with a slight bow for the occasion.

“Poe Dameron. Son of Kes the Fearless.”

“Finn.” The newcomer extends a hand in a firm but amicable shake. “Son of… Finn.”

“Good to meet you, Finn, son of Finn.”

“Ummm…” He looks down in discomfort. “It’s actually just Finn.”

“Sorry,” Poe corrects. “Force of habit. The training arena is just this way, if you’d like to—“

“We’ve heard about the training program from your father,” the woman interrupts with an icy tone.

Poe looks up to introduce himself, when he is cut off. His hand floats in the air between them, mouth half-open as his attempt to greet her is ignored.

“Rest assured, we’ll identify opportunities for improvement during the audit.”

“Excuse me?” Poe sputters. Who the Hell are they to come here and question their way of life?

The woman tosses her flaxen hair and speaks in a slow, condescending cadence. “We’re here to watch your dragon-fighting training.”

At least Finn has the good grace to look ashamed of her display.

“It will begin shortly. Right this way, Miss...” Poe grits out as a flare of anger rises from his gut.

“Captain. Phasma,” she snaps with contempt in each syllable.

“Pleased to meet you, Captain Phasma.” Wow. _Lying really isn’t becoming any easier_, he thinks. “And you…”

Finally, the pale man turns on his heel and jabs a gloved hand toward Poe. Even through the leather, his skeletal joints dig into Poe’s hand as he squeezes in a bid for dominance. “Admiral Hux of the Coruscant Navy.”

“Poe Dameron, son of Kes the Fearless and heir to the throne of Yavin.” Though he is several inches shorter, he holds a steady gaze. His own bare hand shakes that of Hux harshly and Poe struggles to keep a dignified face. He refuses to embarrass Kes today but he won’t be intimidated. These strangers are more interloper than welcome guests, far as he’s concerned. “Shall we begin?”

He leads the group down the path to the arena, pointing out the features of the iron gate, spring-loaded escape door for emergencies, reinforced cage overhead to withstand direct flame contact. When they get to the cages where captured dragons are kept, they find Han and Chewie working, the latter tossing a bucket of fish into one.

Behind bars, a loud hiss and a clang of metal as the dragon protests. Chewie answers the protest with his own growl- nearly as intimidating as the beast’s. Only the glint of tooth or serrated edge of wing are glimpsed through the billowing smoke as the dragon circles in agitation.

Poe excuses himself to join the other recruits as Han escorts their visitors to a good vantage point- the box where Kes usually sits to watch the tournaments and exhibitions. His seat of honor remains empty, and they fill the spots surrounding it.

Everything he had wanted to tell Rey about the dragon evaporated with the knowledge that she could be a Force user. He couldn’t burden her with anything else, not on top of the stress of living and working with Plutt. When Poe sees her, his breath catches. Rey’s armor is old, far from the resplendent glory of Captain Phasma, but she looks no less formidable. With a frown, he recognizes the same oversized boots she tripped over last time. 

They give each other a knowing glance- a secret shared between them. Rey grips the handle of the blade, and Poe notes the kyber’s luminescence even from a distance. As they approach the iron gate of the dragon fighting arena, Rey asks, “Ready, pretty boy?”

He might not be able to kill a dragon, but he could kill Han for saddling him with that moniker. “Ready, Sunshine.”

Smoke hangs like a gauze curtain above the sand as Chewie divides them into pairs: Snap and Karè. Suralinda and Jess. Poe and Rey.

Part of him is elated to be paired together, and part of him prays to be eaten by the dragon already. He smells of eel. Day-old, tepid eel. Before the training session, Poe had stashed the uneaten portion of the Night Fury’s dinner in his vest. He’d much rather not smell like seafood but the dragon’s aversion could be a powerful tool.

Han struts along the arena’s edge, shadows of metal bars overhead falling in diagonal lines across his face. “Today’s lesson is the importance of teamwork.”

From the corner of his eye, he watches Jessika bounce in anticipation when Chewie approaches the release switch on the gate. There’s a trough of water off to one side, and a row of three wooden buckets along the opposite wall.

Han continues, “This dragon is two-headed. One of her heads releases a flammable gas, the other ignites it with a spark. Both of her heads work together, so you numb-skulls need to work together if you wanna beat it.

“Remember, a wet dragon can’t light its flame. Identify which head is which, and extinguish it before she extinguishes you.”

Jess titters in glee, already knowing exactly which species they’ll be facing, but her grin is quickly crumpled into a more serious shape when she feels the glare of cold eyes upon her from the audience. Admiral Hux whispers something to his female companion in disapproval.

“Each team will have one weapon and one bucket between them,” Han explains with an index finger pointed to the sky. The arena behind him is now filled with smoke, dense as the dread felt by the recruits.

Chewie confiscates weapons from Poe, Snap, and Jess, then directs each team to their own corner of the octagonal arena. A curved shepherd’s staff is close by in preparation for a rescue.

Poe turns to Rey, “May the Force be with us?”

“Do people actually say that?” Her freckle-kissed nose scrunches flirtatiously. That’s the kind of thing people say in stories; certainly no one has ever said it to her before, but even she’ll accept an assist from the Force. Or from Poe Dameron. 

A menacing growl emanates from somewhere beyond the pale drift of smoke. Karè cracks her knuckles while Snap stretches.

Their friends are blurs across the sand, the buckets a decent distance away. Rey assumes a sprinter’s pose, a long leg stretched behind her as she bends the other. Its graceful shape proves a distraction to Poe, who admires her a moment too long before realizing he should also prepare to run.

“Okay.” Poe rolls his shoulders as he focuses. “The head that ignites the gas has longer spikes, right?”

“Think so.” The vibrato in her voice makes Poe suspect she’s forgotten everything in the Book of Dragons. Or that she’s scared to handle the sword again.

“Meet your new best friend…” Han announces loudly.

Suralinda adjusts her grip on her refurbished mace. Smears of brilliant sapphire cut across the bridge of her nose to the top of her brow bone.

“… the hideous Zippleback.”

On this cue, Chewie forces the heavy lever down and the metal jaws yawn open with a screech to release the creature into the arena.

Suralinda skitters directly to the buckets, nearly bumping into Poe as they each bend to grab a handle. She disappears back into the smoke once one is in-hand.

Jessika squints into the murkiness, trying to distinguish the footsteps of her friends from the noise of the Zippleback.

Poe keeps his back to the fencing that surrounds the arena, swiftly moving along while Rey covers him with the sword. Poe dunks the bucket into the trough, water sloshing against his boots. There’s barely enough in the container to fill three buckets. Snap looks up at Poe across the trough with a wink. A soft snort from somewhere to the left makes Snap jump, and he jogs back to Karè.

Panting, Rey stands back to back with Poe, whose arms are heavy with the load of water. The crystal in Rey’s sword glows subtly in the smoke, casting a blue tint across her face as she lifts it. She’s captivating.

Two vague forms emerge from the haze veiling the arena. Jessika and Suralinda scream in a pitch high enough to sting teeth, throwing their bucket of water at the Zippleback…

…but are instead met with Karè shrieking as frigid water is dumped into her face. She freezes in shock for a moment as it drips from her platinum hair. With horror, Suralinda realizes her mistake just before a waterlogged Karè whacks her in the forehead with the blunt wooden end of her axe. A couple of dazed steps later, Suralinda finds herself hooked by Han’s staff as he pulls her to safety. She slumps against the fence in perplexed defeat before Han instructs her to walk it off.

“Oh and recruits?” Han shouts through the thick silver smoke with a hand to his mouth when it dawns on him why Suralinda is giggling into the grass instead of listening, “Try not to breathe in the gas. It can be disorienting.”

“Now he tells us,” Poe mutters over his shoulder at Rey. She shakes her head as Poe pulls the opening of his tunic up over his nose. Rey attempts the same, but her shirt doesn’t reach far enough to protect her from the toxic vapor. Poe searches in vain for some kind of filter.

Milky spikes rise above the smoke, like sharks fins cutting the ocean’s surface. They catch the light with flashes of emerald and yellow before they are swallowed by the dense cloud once more. Poe can’t discern which head they’re attached to- the length is relative.

Rey takes a swing at a ghostly arabesque but it doesn’t connect. From the edge of Poe’s vision, a brilliant gold-flecked tail lined with those milky spikes whips across the ground and he pivots to face it.

Jessika is more nimble than her teammate, running to pick up the empty bucket as it rolls along the sand. Hoping to capture and refill it before she feels either the heat of a dragon’s flame or the retribution of Karè. The bucket seems to float in the air, spared from gravity’s pull as the teal and gold tail swipes at their feet. One weightless instant later, Jess and Karè both crash to the ground.

The wind is knocked out of the blonde, who gasps as Han jabs a thumb toward the escape door and yells, “Both of you, out!”

From the stands, Phasma snorts with disdain and Hux lets out a chuckle. Finn glares at them, unnoticed, before returning his attention to the chaos unfolding below. 

Sand clings to the sweat on Jessika’s cheek, even packed into spaces between her tunic and wrist gauntlets from the failed attempt to catch herself. She wipes the grit away as she hurries through the trap door to safety.

Snap drops his bucket, swapping it for Karè’s axe. It falls on the wide, serpentine tail, and a cry of pain fills the arena. The Zippleback bats him away before he can swing again, knocking him and the bucket into the metal fencing.

“Snap, out!” Han yells, and he obeys.

Smoke parts slowly, revealing a pointed, emerald snout only inches from Rey. She is steady, letting out a noise of power as she brandishes her sword.

Poe lifts the bucket, poised to toss the contents over the nose, but hesitates.

Together Rey and the Zippleback sway, its long neck following first to the left then ducking to the right in sync. Vertically-slit eyes follow Rey’s every move, mirroring her lead in what looked more like a dance than a battle.

“Any time now, Poe!” Rey shouts over her shoulder. But Poe can’t make out the other head and the spikes radiating from this one look rather short to him.

He holds the last of the water. And the arena is filled with gas now, ready to ignite if he’s wrong.

“This one?”

“Just do it!”

Eyelids clenched tightly shut, he obliges- just before a scraping sound rasps out softly. That’s how they create the spark: rubbing their fangs together.

Poe’s heart stops. Everything stops. The rest of the dragon emerges, her twin heads craning on long teal necks. Porcupine-like spikes shine opalescent in the light of the afternoon sun above the toxic haze. And the ones in front of Rey are about half the length they should be.

“_Rey!!!_”

Poe throws the wooden bucket at the farthest head, but the distance is too great. Only a portion of the contents splash across the Zippleback’s face. It’s enough to anger it, but not enough to prevent the ignition of a deadly spark.

As if by premonition, Rey is already throwing herself toward the fencing when he screams her name. She’s impossibly light, scaling the iron bars out of pure reflex.

The gas under the dragon ignites, transforming the haze into vermillion plasma. Rey clings to the bars, a ball of fire engulfing the space where she just stood.

Voices layer on top of each other- Han’s shouts and Chewie’s garbled directions and their friends yells. Poe can hear none of it, diving down low against the sand purely on instinct.

Heat is all around him, penetrating past his armor and layers of wool. He curls into the fetal position until it passes, the heat making his brain cook within his helmet. When Poe tears it off and opens his eyes, the arena is clear, and Rey is clinging high to the fence like a Loth cat. Her sword is on the ground, far out of reach. Abandoned out of fear.

The Zippleback approaches, pointed heads suspended on curved necks as she stalks toward him. Matching sets of amethyst and ebony, rimmed in gold scales look at Poe with a cautious fascination.

_I don’t want to harm you. _

He holds a bare hand out, flinching as her breath passes through the hair on his knuckles. A growl rumbles from the dragon, taught to fear and distrust all Vikings. She displays her fangs- rasped like a flint stone from the minerals in her diet- in warning. 

Poe reaches a hand into his vest and opens it to reveal what sits inside along the armor plate: eel. His body is oriented to block the view from everyone else, then he raises both empty hands.

“Easy…” he mutters. From the sideline, his friends scream frantically. Han is already running, curved hook in hand.

The head with the shorter spikes cranes down, twisting sideways in revolt when she realizes what he is hiding. She calls to her other head, which comes to inspect for itself. With a snort, she also backs up in fear.

“That’s right… just back up…” Poe’s voice cracks under the pressure, “Don’t make me use this…”

Rey stares at him with utter disbelief, unmoving. From the audience, Finn stands enraptured.

Poe inches it back slowly, before Chewie pulls the lever trapping it behind bars once more.

“Yeah!” Poe shouts with as much manufactured bravado as he can. He plants his hands on his hips, closing the vest around the secret eel. “And don’t show either of your ugly faces here ever again!”

Flabbergasted, the group stares. Poe pats out the smoldering arm of his tunic. The rest of it is charred, plate of armor across his back burning his fingertip when he brushes it in thankful disbelief. Chewie mutters something about gratitude and barbecue while the teams reconvene.

“That was real close, kid. And real stupid.” Han let out the exasperated sigh Poe was more than familiar with. “I don’t wanna see you do anything like that again.”

Absently, Poe nods. He can only focus on Rey.

“How the Kriff did _you _do that?” Rey asks as she climbs down off the fence.

“Can you keep a secret?” Some subconscious need for confession is welling up with the adrenaline. Or maybe Poe is impaired from the toxic gas.

Rey’s head cocks to the side but she stays quiet. The tan leather of her boots is blackened and her tunic is edged in char from the narrow escape.

“Your boots. They’re burned,” Poe says with concern as she hops down into soft sand. It’s still warm under the thin soles.

“I hate them anyway. They don’t fit.”

“I’ll get you some new ones,” Han offers with a gentle pat on Rey’s back as they walk out of the arena. Though embarrassed, she doesn’t decline.

The heavy gate is clamped shut and the trio of Coruscant officials comes to meet them.

“You really are the son of Kes the Fearless,” Finn says with a hint of awe.

Poe squints. “You had doubts?”

“No. It’s just impressive, that’s all.”

“Finn is the finest dragon trapper we have,” Admiral Hux informs them. “Coruscant boasts a wide collection of species from across the region.”

“Is that so?” Something curdles deep within Poe’s stomach. Yavin doesn’t trap dragons deliberately; the ones they spar with had been injured during previous raids on the village. “You train like this as well?”

“No.” Phasma’s voice is cold. “Not like this.”

Chewie takes a step forward in indignation but halts when Han raises a hand.

“We believe in knowing our enemies.”

“There’s… much to refine about your program. We only form alliances with strong nations,” Hux adds with a smug flick of his wrist.

Han scoffs with crossed arms.

“We’ll discuss this at another time,” Poe straightens, countering with an unfamiliar authoritative tone.

Suralinda and Jessika cross their arms as Admiral Hux and Captain Phasma silently appraise them. Snap and Karè are too engrossed in their own play-by-play retelling of the highlights to notice. Poe’s anger rises, twisting his expression.

Rey touches his hand softly in an attempt to stop the imminent outburst. Grains of sand still cling to her fingers, which wrap around his. Post-battle jitters still rattle them slightly.

Real as her heartbeat, she feels wind howling past her ears and tastes salt in the air. Flying. Her dream of flying. The vision consumes her, so immersive that she temporarily questions reality after returning to the present moment. She’s never seen that dream while awake before. Poe’s warm palm is still against her own and his chin is held aloft, eyes blazing with indignation beside her.

_We’re grounding each other_, Rey realizes. _But then why did I see flight?_

She feels his worry, his anger, but also uncertainty. Anger and uncertainty are familiar to her, too.

_I can trust her_, Poe decides in that moment. He’ll tell her about the Night Fury at Beru Point that had somehow transformed from an adversary into a friend. Another secret to bond them.

“So, how did you enjoy the training?” Kes interrupts, ambling up the path with a sage-colored cape tucked around his broad shoulders.

Captain Phasma offers a terse smile, and Admiral Hux nods curtly. “There’s potential.”

Kes’s heavy brow drops slightly and the turns to Han.

“Its... fine.” Han hesitates before stepping forward. “Poe subdued it today.”

Pride illuminates the chief’s tired eyes, which dart down to where Rey’s hand is entwined with Poe’s. He can’t help but smirk at this development. “Wonderful.”

“I’ve never seen anyone handle a Zippleback like that,” Finn praises. Unlike his companions, it’s genuine. “Either of you.”

Poe releases her grip and nods to his father and Finn. With the sudden loss, Poe realizes he’s trembling. He holds onto his helmet by its curved horns. “Thank you. This is Rey,” Poe introduces. “Rey, meet Finn.”

“A pleasure.”

She holds out a hand and senses the seed of kinship buried deep under Finn’s onyx black uniform. A seed that could grow, providing shelter to Yavin under wide branches. How, Rey can’t understand, like the logic of a dream. She isn’t sure if she could trust her visions yet, despite what Maz had said: the kyber crystal was _safe_ with her.

Rey is introduced to the other two guests, who give her the exact opposite impression. Captain Phasma wears a sneering smile and Hux briskly makes contact through a leather glove. Apprehension chills the warmth she had felt emanating from Finn, and she shivers under her ill-fitting armor.

Picking up on the tension, Kes waves their guests ahead to explore more of Yavin. Poe turns to Rey with a silent, thankful smile. Her eyes quickly downcast in response, but a sparkle is there.

The recruits speak among themselves, stealing glimpses at Poe as he follows his father dutifully. Questioning eyes darting between him and Rey, whispers of speculation about the newcomers.

“Come on.” Kes rests a hand on Poe’s burned shoulder with an insuppressible grin. “We need to prepare for the banquet with their Supreme Leader.”

Han trails behind, nudging Chewie with an elbow. “That metal tree has a lot of audacity. And I don’t care for the scrawny one either.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Rey grumbles as she slides her sword back into its sheath. 


	7. That’s Appropriate

Bark splits against either side of Rey’s blade with a satisfying crunch. Pausing her workout, Rey wipes at her nose with a forearm and sits on a stump to regain her breath. Around her, the forest is a serene counterbalance to the swirl of emotion in her mind. Shades of green and the scent of moss have always brought Rey comfort, a contrast to the grey ash that had flittered around Jakku in her youth. 

A soft gasp escapes her when a twig snaps along the trail. She ducks behind a bush, only moving to ensheath the sword when she recognizes the source.

It’s not easy to sneak up on Rey, whose reflexes are on-par with a prey animal. Her defense has been honed from years of working with Plutt, as involuntary as a flinch now. She became thankful for this vigilance- not to Plutt himself but for her body’s adaption- when she realized not everyone shared it.

Beams of pastel light of cut through the tree trunks with the waning dusk, casting warmth against Poe’s face for an instant before he steps into another shadow. The silver plates of armor he wore earlier are gone, exchanged for a cream-color tunic over leather pants.

Silently, Rey watches as he tromps down the path purposefully. Words are caught in her throat. As she’d practiced her techniques, Rey thought of the vision from earlier. Thoughts of the wind led to thoughts of Poe’s curls whipping across his forehead on the day they ate breakfast together, his head craned back in a robust laugh. She blushes with the thought of being alone with him again.

She cowers lower, obscured by a fern as he approaches. Rey bites her lip, holding her breath when he passes. She remains unseen.

The bundle over Poe’s shoulder is unwieldy as he ambles up Beru Point. It shifts as he reaches for a hand hold in the rock, and he nearly loses his balance climbing down. Rey squints, following undetected as he continues toward a lush clearing skirting the pond.

When he arrives, Poe lays down the bundle and sets out a lantern and a basket of roast porg. Unwinding the rough cloth reveals a contraption of scalloped leather and brass joints that glint in the sunset. He’s proud of his handiwork (whatever it is), smiling to himself before he looks up and launches back in shock.

“Boo,” Rey smiles. Startling him was deliberate, but a pang of remorse hits her when Poe’s usually-rich complexion pales. His eyes ping around the clearing even after he recognizes her.

“Rey! What are you doing here?!”

“Plutt is drunk again. I slipped away to think.” Despite closer inspection, she still can’t identify the object he dragged out here. “What is that, a saddle?”

“No. It’s…”

“And a picnic,” she mutters, eyes on the generous serving of porg sitting in a basket near the lantern. That’s enough for two. Now she pales. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

Confusion furrows the gap between Poe’s brows before he jumps to his feet. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“No, I’ve interrupted and —“ she stops suddenly, wondering who he is waiting for. It could be Suralinda. Or Jess. Or that Finn guy who looked at Poe like he was Thor himself.

It doesn’t matter; he wasn’t waiting for her. She’s a nobody and Poe is the heir to the throne of Yavin, son of Kes the Fearless.

“Wait! Rey, please,” he calls with an outstretched hand. Rey storms down the path leading the long way back to the village, swinging gauntlet-covered arms as hot tears stream down. Soil patters under her charred boots as Poe’s voice grows distant.

Ahead of her on the trail, a shadow moves. Rey slows her pace as she approaches, drawing in ragged breath. Then stops. Heartache twists into fear.

The smell of moss and slight decay of forest floor leaves mingles with smoke. Another shift of dark silhouette against the span of tree trunks, and the sky is awash in lilac as the first sun sets completely. She reaches back, drawing her blade. Kyber casts a radius of pale blue light around Rey as she adjust her grip and does a small flourish to discourage any would-be attacker.

A low rumble emanates from the darkness, then wide-set oval eyes blink into existence. They are vivid orange, sparkling with depth.

Fear contorts Rey’s mouth as she stands rigidly on the trail. Her eyes are frantic, trying to make out what this is. A set of wings unfurls, grand in scale and elegance, as the proud owner steps out of obscurity.

Never before has she seen one like this.

The dragon approaches her on squat legs, curiosity burning in its eyes like twin bonfires. It doesn’t cower.

Rey flicks her tongue out to wet her lips, willing herself to focus on survival. If she makes it home, she can shed tears then. Sword in hand, Rey grunts and charges.

Her scaled adversary doesn’t flee. Its chest is thrust forward majestically as it watches.

Just as the edge of the kyber’s light graces the scales of the dragon’s face, Rey lifts her elbow to deliver the initial swing—

“STOP!”

Poe throws his body in front of the beast, pleading. The lantern swings from his left hand, bringing a warm glow to mingle with the cool.

Bewildered, Rey grunts his name, shoving him aside before she could make sense of the rapid jumble of words falling from his mouth.

“No! Stop!” Poe steps between her and the dragon. Not wise to put his back to it like that. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Get back,” Rey hisses. “I can do this alone.” _Alone._ The word is loaded now. She steps forward, focus trained on the reptilian opponent.

“Listen—“

“Move.”

“Rey,” Poe grits out in a tone that called to mind Kes’s authority. His hand lands on her forearm, imploring her to ease the weapon down.

She bristles. Rey doesn’t even want to look Poe in the eye knowing he was waiting for someone else, while she trained and daydreamed of laughing with Poe, of dancing with Poe. She had begun to think of herself as special, because of Maz, but now signs were pointing only to her being the owner of a special _object._ Rey jerks away, the sword’s edge catching the lantern’s cast with the movement.

The dragon lets out a fierce snarl, claws digging into the soil as it finally stalked forward. Adrenaline wells up within her, fortifying Rey’s body with agility and power. Poe’s hazelnut eyes beg, filled with a desperation she’s never seen in him before. “He’s protecting me.”

“Of course I’m protecting you, you nerf-herder—“ she continues, brow fixed in a scowl. She might be angry at Poe, angry at herself for believing there was something more, but she would never let harm come to him.

Rey bolts forward but the dragon cuts her off, lifting a bat-like wing abruptly in her face while its mouth opens to reveal the small flame dancing upon its tongue. She pivots as she misses the dragon, agile steps quick as her sword is lifted once more.

“_He_ is protecting _me_!” Poe repeats with louder emphasis, darting between them. The wing envelops him, and the dragon narrows its eyes menacingly at Rey. She pauses, chest heaving with the exertion, and Poe’s voice is softer. “He’s my friend.”

Rey blinks, taking in the bizarre scene.

“Just stay back,” Poe continues. “He doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s just trying to protecting me.”

She struggles to recall, did the dragon show aggression first? It was her. And the beast only responded that way when she was arguing with Poe. Rey is frozen, muscles buzzing with anxiety, thoughts muddled with confusion.

“Please. I’ve been wanting to tell you…”

“What?” she manages to breathe.

“That I shot down a Night Fury and we’ve kinda bonded?” Poe blurts out, words mashing together with his rapid delivery. The truth couldn’t come out of his mouth fast enough. He sets down the lantern.

Unburdened by his secret yet in trepidation of Rey’s response, Poe turns to the dragon and offers his palm in a show of trust. The Night Fury reciprocates, nudging his nose against Poe’s hand as Rey’s jaw hangs loosely in shock.

“Shhhhh… It’s alright buddy, she’s one of the good ones,” he reassures the beast. It lowers the wing to allow Poe free movement and he steps forward with apologetic eyes. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. I tried to tell you but… well, it’s…”

“It’s a Night Fury.” Rey’s whisper is filled with equal parts terror and awe.

“Yeah. And I hurt him, so now I owe him.”

Memories flash like lightning strikes through Rey’s mind. “Why? They kill us! Burn down our villages and fields, eat our banthas! Vikings starve to death because of dragons, did you know that?!”

As her voice raises in indignation, the Night Fury lowers his head and snarls.

“Easy…,” Poe murmurs to the dragon, stroking the raised scales along his nose. Poe’s expression tightens as he addresses Rey. “I know. And we kill many of their kind, every chance we get. But they can also be smart and gentle. The proof is right here.”

“How…” Rey sheathes the sword and rests it between her shoulder blades.

He steps forward, and in a bold move, takes her hands. They’re chilled and petite, and the intimacy of it is like a kick to the sternum. “I shot him down with a bolas. Tracked him to Beru Point to make the kill. He was wounded and it would’ve been simple, but I couldn’t. Just look at him, Sunshine.” Poe tilts his chin up to the dragon, who was watching their interaction with rapture.

Despite her reservations, Rey genuinely smiles at the Night Fury’s quirked neck. Poe’s face follows, carving deep lines around his mouth as he lets out a chuckle. The dragon straightens and sits, folding both wings neatly behind himself. Surprisingly endearing.

“What do you call him?” she asks tentatively. Standing this close to a dragon without a weapon drawn feels mad. Holding hands with Poe Dameron feels mad. Rey gulps. “Does he have a name?”

“Hmmm,” Poe squeezes her hands slightly, one pulse, before he softly releases them. He steps toward the dragon, who leans against him with affection. A low purr rumbles from a fire-filled throat, a reminder of how deadly this species can be. “First, I called him a bastard. Lately, I’ve been calling him buddy.”

“How about B.B.?”

At that, the Night Fury snaps to Rey’s attention, ears perked up.

“For bastard buddy?” Poe laughs. Suddenly, the dragon sneezes, blowing a ball of mucous onto Poe’s tunic. He looks up at Rey, deadpan. “I think that’s appropriate.”

She bites her lip to avoid a bout of laughter, but her dimples betray her. A giggle escapes and Poe is grateful for the sound. He’d rather preserve his dignity but humor has its merits. Together they laugh at the absurdity, the surrealism of it all.

“B.B. it is, then. Meet Rey.”

Her slender, dough-kneading fingers outstretch in a peaceful greeting, and the Night Fury now known as B.B. allows them to skim over his scales. Amazement colors Rey’s face; she’s actually petting a dragon.


	8. If This Works

Poe watches as Rey tentatively brushes her fingertips along the pebbled scales of the dragon’s forehead. B.B. responds with a guttural purr, pushing against her affectionately. With sheer wonderment, Rey’s tear-stained cheeks lift in a smile.

“He likes you,” Poe notes. Their gaze doesn’t break immediately, and he remembers the look of pain and disappointment she wore only minutes earlier. “And he’s not the only one.”

She’s guarded, understandably, eyes darting to the ground.

Poe shifts his weight between the balls of his feet, back and forth as he clarifies, “That wasn’t a picnic back there; it was a bribe.” B.B. chuffs and cocks his head when Poe jabs a thumb in his direction. “For this guy. He can’t fly, his tail’s too damaged. And it’s just a matter of time before someone finds him and…”

“We both know what happens then,” Rey completes the thought when Poe trails off. Guilt wraps around her in the knowledge that she didn’t ask questions before charging at this gentle creature.

“I can’t believe I have to say this, but you _cannot_ keep a pet dragon. This is Yavin!”

“I know where we are.” Shame tints his words. “Believe me. My entire life, dragons have been the enemy and one day I’m expected to lead the war against them.”

Rey’s mouth crumples in acknowledgment. Her hand slides off B.B.’s snout at the memory of the waste laid to Jakku. He looks up at her with wet, innocent eyes when the contact is broken and she is stung with remorse. After the attack on her home island, the warriors of Jakku found a nest and burned a large cache of dragon eggs. It was celebrated as a victory of justice after such destruction. But Rey and B.B. are both innocents in this, at least until Rey completes her training.

“If the chief finds out—“

“I just need to see if the prosthetic works! Then he’ll be gone. No one has to find out, especially not my dad. But I need to make this right.

“So I thought, distract this guy with some food while I attach the sail and make any fit modifications. Then he’ll be able to fly again. Would you like to help?”

She squints at Poe in the halo around the lantern. Pastel shades of sunset have faded to deep indigo, casting dramatic shadows against his cheekbones. “Okay. Then he’s off.”

“Then he’s off.” Poe nods. “C’mon, B.B. you heard the lady.”

Following back on the path, they return to the clearing near the waterfall, where the basket and prosthesis had been abandoned earlier. Rey’s arms cross her torso tightly as Poe points out the cave behind the waterfall the dragon has nested in, and the spot where he shot B.B. down with the bolas launcher. That small action doesn’t go unnoticed, and he regrets not having a cloak to offer her.

B.B. trots ahead, carrying the basket handle between his teeth.

Poe sets the lantern down. The wool fabric previously wrapped around the prosthetic tail lays on the ground, and he picks it up, snapping it in the air a couple times to remove the clinging leaves. “Here,” he offers, draping it over Rey’s goose-bumped shoulders as he stands behind and to the right of her.

“Thank you.” Her demeanor is softer now that the adrenaline has subsided. Her palm clasps over Poe’s knuckles as he stands behind her shoulder to tighten the wool. Electricity crackles with the contact.

Neither one pulls away this time. Crickets chirp in their nightly chorus around them.

Rey turns, and when she does their faces linger dangerously close. She’s slightly disheveled after training, eyes hooded low. Half her brunette hair is pulled back, the length cascading down her shoulders being swallowed up by the fabric now. Poe is overcome with protective instinct- reciprocating how Rey immediately sought to protect him when she thought Poe unarmed- even though she was clearly more than capable.

She leans into him, subtly shifting her upper body against his chest and sandwiching the replica of Shara Bey’s ring between them. A deep inhalation fills Poe’s lungs to savor the tenderness of the embrace. How he wants to offer it, offer himself, to Rey.

Kes once told Poe about his first kiss with Poe’s mother. It was after a joyful night of dance and drink, breathless and impulsive. Young Shara had pulled Kes close and wrapped her arms around his neck, defying tradition by planting one on the young Kes before they were married. According to Kes, true love’s first kiss was either a disaster or a fairytale.

Here, in the pale glow of the lantern, Rey looks like a princess. Poe isn’t a prince, but son of the chief is close enough. This could be their fairytale.

“Is that better?” Poe manages to whisper. She leans her back into his chest, faces drifting closer.

Rey waits for him to meet her eyes again before she nods. Poe’s focus rests on her mouth, his own tongue darting out to wet his lips in bashful expectation when he realizes Rey is doing the same. Her shoulder softens, melting into his sturdy warmth as those perfect lips drift near.

Rey’s slender neck tilts gently as he leans in. Poe follows suit, eyes fluttering shut, heart thundering so loudly it’s a wonder the island hasn’t split in two.

“Oh!”

The basket rams into Poe’s calf and they snap out of their hold to find B.B. waiting impatiently. Silently, he curses the dragon for ruining the moment. Disaster.

B.B. still clenches the basket of porg in his jaw, thrusting it in Rey’s direction. She’s a good two steps away now and Poe deflates a little from the sudden distance.

“Looks like he wants to share a meal first?” She can’t help but be utterly charmed by this animal, despite the unfortunate timing. B.B. gestures to a small pile of sticks in the clearing, apparently gathered while she and Poe were distracted, then ignites them with a single huff of concentrated fire. It doesn’t take much more convincing for Rey to be their guest for dinner.

Rey and Poe sit cross-legged, thanking B.B. for the warmth and light as they gather closer to the fire. He sniffs around the kyber crystal of the sword, apparently fascinated by the glow which flares when his nose touches the fragment. As B.B. amuses himself with Rey’s sword, the two eat quietly against a backdrop of croaks and wood crackles.

Then they’re ready to fit the prosthetic tail. The contraption is crafted from sheets of leather, boned in brass to form an elegant scalloped sail. A series of belt-like fasteners would attach to the tail. The Night Fury sniffs Poe’s creation with suspicion, but he is quickly distracted when a porg drumstick is lifted out of the basket by Rey.

Using teamwork, Rey distracts B.B. with morsels of roasted porg while Poe slips behind the dragon. His hand follows along the spine to build familiarity with his touch, just like Kes had taught him when they broke that tauntaun gelding last summer. Calm voice and slow movements build trust before slipping a saddle on one, and Poe figures the same logic applied. After a few minutes, he guides the remaining stump of tail into the prosthetic, praising B.B.’s patience in comforting tones all the while.

“Annnd, there. Good job.” Poe tightens the last fastener and stepped back. The size of his sail isn’t a perfect match, but it should work. Poe runs his hands along the dragons wing, feeling the slight texture difference. He’s never had a bond quite like this with an animal; shame it’s over so soon.

Rey pats B.B. on the head as he devours the last of the poultry. “Let’s see if this works.”

“Hey,” Poe says defensively.

“Well,” Rey teases, beginning to count on her fingers, “after the burnt toast disaster, and the bolas launcher and—“

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, “Way to give him confidence.” B.B. squints at Poe from the corners of his eye wearily. Poe adds, “You’ll be fine.”

The dragon circles, fixated on the new addition to his body. The tail flicks with an isolated twitch of muscle and the dragon appears pleased. His mouth pulls into a strange smile, with two rows of razor-sharp daggers guarding a tongue full of burning embers.

Rey grins at Poe, who watches with baited breath. “Go ahead,” he insists with a gesture to the clearing. “Try it out.”

First hesitant, B.B. stretches sharp wings and walks in circles, looking at Poe. He furls his brow in concentration, a hand on his hip as he tries to work out the issue.

Rey shrugs.

“What is it, buddy?” Poe asks, stepping closer to inspect the straps connecting the sail to the tail itself. Testing the fit, he wiggles a finger between the leather and B.B’s scales. It’s snug. “Too tight?”

B.B. takes off in a full sprint, taking Poe with him. He flails as he is dragged behind, a finger still wedged between the strap as he fumbles for the buckle.

Rey lets out a cry of surprise, and frankly, of fear.

Then liftoff. It’s not as graceful as one would imagine it to be for such a sinewy creature, but they typically don’t have Vikings stuck to their tails. Poe grabs the base of the tail as his feet leave the ground. The leather strips of the sail fan out, catching the chill breeze when Poe wrenches them open.

Higher.

Higher.

Obsidian wings beat against the sky in a powerful rhythm. B.B. turns his head to Poe, biting his tunic to pull him closer.

Poe straddles his back, hanging on now as the angle of ascent sharpens. He faces the dragon’s tail, peering straight down as Rey and the bonfire become smaller and smaller below.

They level out and Poe is finally able to jerk his finger free. B.B. lets out an irritated grunt.

“Let’s never do that again,” Poe mutters as he turns to face forward. He straddles the dragon’s back and wraps his arms around B.B.’s neck for stability.

For the first time, Poe fully realizes he is flying. Truly flying.

And it’s just as enthralling as he’s always dreamed. In fact, it’s just like his dream. Poe wonders how this can be reality. Surely he’s delirious with fever, sick in bed at home, and not on the back of a Night Fury. Crisp air lifts his curls, whipping them into a mess of black fluff. Goosebumps shoot down his arms at the mixture of adrenaline and cold. They soar high, pulling away from gravity with joyful defiance.

Everything is small from this perspective. Beru Point and the forest canopy shrink under them, the village becoming a few dim shapes interspersed with lantern glow in the distance. This is Yavin, his home. Poe realizes a dragon might not see the same beauty as he did in a Viking settlement.

“Stay low,” he says when reality tempers his elation. The night may not provide enough cover for them to be safe. “We can’t be spotted.”

They’re intuitive as a team after the awkward takeoff, Poe leaning in as B.B. banks, adjusting the sail as necessary. He can’t fly high on his own, not without a way to manipulate the sail. B.B. listens, seeming to understand Poe. They slow, gliding peacefully as they drop altitude.

With a gentle bank, B.B. turns and circles Rey, who stands bundled in the fabric with a look of amazement. Flight. Her vision of flight came true.

After they touch down, Poe takes a second to collect himself before moving from B.B.’s back. The dragon shakes his head, stomping a foot down in protest when Poe goes to move. “What? You don’t want me to?”

He orients toward Rey and pushes his snout into her hands.

“Me? You want me to fly, too?” Rey asks. The dragon’s head bounces. “B.B…. you have to go. Staying in Yavin is too dangerous.”

A shaky grin is given in response, B.B.’s sharp teeth bared.

“One little flight wouldn’t hurt,” Poe appeals to her sense of adventure, “Come on! You have to see this!

“Really wanna find out what happens when you say no to a Night Fury?”

Rey feigns reluctance then quirks a brow. She stomps out the fire, extinguishing it with a few handfuls of dirt before leaving the lantern, her sword and the basket behind. She brings the makeshift blanket. “Not tonight.”

An ecstatic grin pulls at Poe’s mouth as he scoots back, making room for Rey to sling a thigh over B.B.’s back and cling to his neck.

“Hang on!” she cries when the dragon sprints across the grass. Poe’s hands brace her stomach as B.B.’s massive wings pump quickly to get them airborne. He’s painfully aware of the intimacy of it but soon the awkwardness, like the ground, grows distant.

“This is amazing!”

“I know,” Poe answers.

The trickle of the waterfall and the hum of insects gives way to the howl of wind as they rise above the clearing. Even with two passengers, this is a much smoother ascent.

In a surreal turn of events, they’re on the back of a predator they’ve spent their lives fearing.

Ocean spray tickles their cheeks as they skim low against cliffs. B.B. grows more comfortable with the prosthetic, taking tight turns and picking up speed as Rey shouts in glee. Poe joins her in a wolf-like howl as they glide over the crest of a powerful wave. Moonlight illuminates the choppy waters, subtle highlights the only way to distinguish the sea from the sky.

They keep far from the dim lights and problems of the village. Rey turns over her shoulder, laughing at Poe’s flurry of windswept curls.

Just like that, Rey dips in for a quick kiss.

It’s honest, uninhibited by the expectations of Yavin: simply Poe and Rey. Their lips don’t meet for long, and Poe’s brain isn’t functioning enough for him to kiss her back for the first half of it.

Pink, soft lips twitch upward when they break apart. Rey lets out a breathy laugh at her audacity and Poe blinks. They’re traveling through mist hanging over the falls, which sparkles occasionally as it catches the moonlight. A fairytale.

Blushing furiously, Rey turns to face forward again. Poe somehow remains conscious for the remainder of the flight, slowly coming to when his feet find the ground and B.B. lets out a grumble of annoyance a minute or so later.

“Sorry bud, kinda out of it there for a moment.”

Rey giggles- giggles for Thor’s sake- and with horror, Poe realizes his palms are still on her hips even though they’re back on firm ground. Immediately he pulls them away, expression twisting in unspoken apology.

“It’s okay,” Rey assures him, stepping off B.B. Poe does the same. The dragon looks between the two of them as if the entire thing had been a set up. Poe wonders if it was.

He wants to offer Rey the ring around his neck, but now isn’t the time. Tradition dictates Dameron children in Yavin avoid premarital relationships. Rey is aware of it as something Poe has lamented in passing before. According to Kes, it’s a measure to keep the throne secure. Poe isn’t so sure about the merits of the restrictive tradition- other young Vikings had the opportunity to date- but he picks his battles.

Rey stoops to one knee, rubbing B.B.’s jaw as the creature purrs at her adoringly. “Thank you, my friend.” With a regretful smile, she adds, “You have to leave for real this time, though.”

With some confusion, B.B. looks to Poe. He sighs and runs a hand along the dorsal ridges, “it’s time for you to go home, B.B.”

The dragon stomps once, a heavy foot thudding against the soil in objection. He points his nose toward the cave near the waterfall.

“No. Your real home, your nest with your family,” Poe clarifies.

Ears drooping, B.B. whimpers. Night Furies are extremely rare, even believed by some to be extinct. An orphan herself, Rey catches on before Poe and she asks, “do you know where other dragons live?”

His wings flutter in affirmation. It’s not enthusiastic but at least he won’t be alone. “Okay. I want you to go to them. Stay far from here. I’m so sorry but you can’t come back, it’s not safe.”

B.B. snorts and pushes his forehead against Poe’s stomach as a show of gratitude. His chest tightens. “I’m gonna miss you, Bastard Buddy. This isn’t my choice, it’s just how it has to be.”

Eventually the dragon listens, resigned to the truth here: a Viking settlement is no place to stay. “Be careful out there.”

His round, expressive eyes flicker a moment before the beast turns and lifts off silently into the night. Rey places a hand on Poe’s shoulder but his focus stays on the mass of black growing farther away with each beat of wing.

“Just wasn’t meant to be, huh?” he asks rhetorically. The forest already feels different without B.B.’s presence. “Hell of a story, though.”

“More believable than some of Han’s,” Rey answers, earning a snorted laugh from Poe that breaks some of the tension.

“Come on.” He re-lights the lantern and recovers the empty basket as Rey sheathes her sword at her back once more. “We should get back home now, too. You must be freezing.”

Together, they start down the trail, walking so close their knuckles brush occasionally. By the time they reach the tauntaun pasture at the edge of the village, they’re holding hands.


	9. Defensive Long Enough

A gust of icy air accompanies Poe’s entrance when the doors of the Great Hall swing open, howling as he pushes them closed again with a shoulder. Every face turns to him.

Han and Kes flank one end of the wooden banquet table, which is covered in maps. On the other side, the trio of Captain Phasma, Admiral Hux and Finn point out the territories they are affiliated with, marking islands with red wooden chips as they move through the map. Lanterns are placed along the rectangular surface to combat the darkness of the night.

Only one person doesn’t turn to Poe when he enters: a tall man standing with his back to the door, at the opposite end of the table to Kes. His silhouette is dark, backlit with the light of the fireplaces burning in the Great Hall.

“Poe!” Kes waves calls for his son to join him. “Come, we’ve much to discuss with our guests.”

Remembering the formality Kes had requested earlier, Poe clears his throat and bow his head slightly as he answers, “Sorry, sir. I was training and lost track of time.”

Kes silently examines him with furrowed brow, taking note of the chaotic curls and flushed cheeks. After a moment, a knowing look relaxes Kes’s face, and he lets out an amused huff and he gingerly picks a leaf out of Poe’s hair. With a low whisper meant only for his son’s ears, he adds, “we’ll talk later.”

Poe’s eyes widen in apparent guilt, which is waved off with a wink. He knows. And he’s taking it quite well, considering.

Recovering from the interruption, Phasma points out a cluster of islands to the North and claims alliance with all of them. Her fair locks are plaited, silver armor still worn over a white tunic. Han points out the most recent expedition route taken by the warriors, tracing a path in Yavin’s traditional orange.

Poe’s focus wanders to the tall, mysterious stranger at the opposite end of the table. A helmet obscures his entire face, menacing in matte black with curved silver accents around the mouth. How were they supposed to build a relationship of respect and trust with their ally if they couldn’t even make proper eye contact?

The stranger catches Poe staring, moving toward him as the Hux and Phasma fall in line on their side. Poe squares his shoulders, dramatically shorter than all of them. Intimidation wasn’t going to work; not in his father’s presence.

Silence fills the chasm between them, and Poe quirks a defiant brow. “So, who talks first? You talk first or I talk—“

Finally, the tall stranger speaks as he shoves a gloved hand forward. “Ren. Supreme Leader of Coruscant and The Order.”

His deep voice is distorted through the helmet with a saturnine energy. He doesn’t mention any lineage, simply Ren. A slick leather cape is draped artfully across his broad shoulders and a gilded scabbard gleams at his waist.

“It’s kinda hard to understand you with all the…” Poe gestures vaguely to his mouth and nose, unsure of how to proceed.

“Poe!” Kes grunts. Generations ago, Coruscant had been an enemy of Yavin, and the current chief is eager to seal an alliance with them, apparently even willing to excuse the lack of decorum with the helmet. “We don’t question the traditions of our guests.”

“This kid’s one of my prized pupils,” Han interjects to smooth the situation. He runs a hand through sandy grey hair and leans on the table casually. A vein on Admiral Hux’s forehead throbs when he knocks over a series of wooden markers on the map. “He’ll be showcased in the tournament tomorrow.”

Internally, Poe blanches at the news, knowing it means his blade through the heart of an innocent animal. Externally, he tilts his chin up, eyes blazing.

“I had no idea one of Yavin’s best dragon fighters was of distinguished blood.

“And the girl with the kyber blade?”

Something curdles within his gut, like bantha milk left out on a summer’s day, at the mention of Rey. Someone in his entourage recognized the crystal in the hilt at the training? What interest does this man have in her? In the strange blade? Poe can feel Kes’s liquid eyes boring into him as he folds his arms across his breast.

“Uh, a kyber blade?” Han asks in confusion, toying with one of the markers. “Oh, you mean Rey. Another great student. She’ll be there as well.”

The helmeted head turns toward Han then to Poe once more, somehow seething with contempt despite being expressionless. Hux fusses with re-arranging the map, gloved fingers moving wooden markers across islands and territories like chess pieces. Outside, the wind has picked up even more, bending around the trees in an ominous whistle.

Changing the subject, Kes gestures to the map overridden by red wooden disks. The patch of map depicting Yavin is still empty, flanked by an illustration of langskips. “This is quite a rapid expansion of… alliances. How did this come about?”

“The Order offers protection,” Captain Phasma replies. “Weapons, patrols. Yavin will be rid of its pests and therefore safer and more productive.”

_This is about dragons. _Heart rate jumping, Poe stares at the visitors with eyes aflame. If it’s one thing the widower chief of Yavin cares about, it’s the safety of his people and defending their home. Some wounds never quite heal.

“And The Order receives access to our resources in exchange for such protection, yes?” Kes squints as Ren nods in agreement. He’s frank as can be while remaining diplomatic. “What does Yavin have that’s so valuable to Coruscant? We aren’t wealthy.”

“Warriors. Thriving agriculture. A strategic location...”

“And what strategy would our location and warriors be serving?”

Ren slinks toward Kes, cape dusting the wooden floor lightly. They are roughly the same height, Ren having the advantage, both men broad and muscular. “With our combined forces, we’ll raid the nest.”

Resolve spreads across Kes’s battle-hardened, yet handsome face.

“You know where it is?” Han asks. The dark figure nods curtly but doesn’t elaborate.

“We alone can control the dragons,” Ren assures in what sounds like a veiled threat, “and it would behoove you to join us.”

“Wait, wait—“ Poe breaks in, “You can control them?”

For the first time, Finn the trapper speaks directly to him, standing with hands clasped. No sense of arrogance in his manner, like the others. “We can modify some behavior, yes. You and I can discuss it at length later.”

Jaw slack, Poe stares. On Coruscant they trap and train dragons? Apprehension constricting his chest, he tries to make sense of the vague look of guilt in Finn’s expression. Ren’s interest in Rey, knowledge of kyber. The wave of red spilling across the adjacent territories and islands.

“Our program is quite different than yours,” Phasma reminds them with frigid pride, hair swishing as her nose shot up toward the roof.

“Obviously,” Han grumbles, ego still bruised from the earlier criticism.

Kes’s attention returns to the map, to the modest land mass marked as Yavin in the middle of the unforgiving sea. He extends his hand to the helmeted chief, as Poe looks on in horror. “I look forward to learning more about it. Yavin will join The Order, in exchange for your assistance in eradicating our common threat.”

“Excellent.”

As Ren steps forward to seal the words in a handshake, a crimson sparkle at his waist catches the light of the fire’s glow. A gem, or crystal, is embedded in the scabbard. The cape moves, partially revealing the matching hilt of a sword. It looks like Rey’s, but casts a blood-red tint along the lining of the garment.

Captain Phasma and Admiral Hux both curl their lips in a smug smirk. Hux moves a marker atop the map, nearly obliterating their tiny island home under the red-painted disk.

Despite the churning of anxiety, Poe practically holds his breath the rest of the meeting. The men discuss some trade points and logistics, but never reveal how they came into the knowledge of the dragon’s nest location. 

Ren declines an offer to share a meal and ale with their guests, presumably to avoid removing the helmet, but allows his aides to. Instead, he swiftly returns to the guest quarters prepared for them at the heart of the village alone. Kes is clearly bristled at the snub, though he bites his tongue in the name of diplomacy. Kes declares he and his son will also retire for the night, leaving the rest of them to be served bread from Plutt’s bakery and seasoned porg from the Antilles farm.

Once out the Great Hall, Kes shoots Poe a pointed look. The wind has picked up, relentlessly howling now. Rain falls at a slant, stinging their faces. Poe worries about B.B., and the integrity of the prosthetic tail as the weather worsens. They walk quickly to their cottage, Poe scanning the murky sky for any sign of his friend.

“What was all that about?”

“Dad… Really?”

“You could’ve been a bit more civil.” Tightening his cloak around his neck, Kes answers, “We don’t have to enjoy their company to be allies, you know.”

“He wouldn’t even show you his face,” Poe complains, frowning as the drops assault his cheeks. “How are you supposed to trust them?”

“Like I said, it’s not our place to question their customs.” It bothered his father, that much was obvious, though he refuses to admit it. “It’s my job to help our people. Destroying the nest will help, and this will strengthen trade with Coruscant.”

“Do we really need to seek out the nest, though? Seems like an unnecessary risk.”

Kes jerks to a halt mid-step. Shara was also like this sometimes, contentious and candid in opinion. They disagreed on this issue, too, Shara asserting that violence wasn’t the way to true peace.

She was always an optimist. Look where it got her. Kes had never been more sorry to be proven right. But Poe didn’t know about Shara’s belief that dragons were not mindless bringers of destruction; he was only a boy of eight when they lost her.

Poe continues, gesturing with an upturned palm, “I’m just saying. Defending ourselves is different than attacking.”

Heat rising up his neck, Kes turns away sharply. Sometimes it’s hard to look at Poe and see Shara’s eyes, to hear Shara’s voice in his phrasing. Marching forward, Kes composes himself in stoic silence until they reach the threshold of their cottage.

Slamming the door shut behind them, Kes finally raises his voice to an intense timbre. “You’d rather wait ‘til we find our rooftops engulfed in flames? Allow them to burn our crops and bring about a famine? Rather watch someone else carried away in the jaws of some beast?!

“We’ve been defensive long enough. It’s time for offense.”

Poe begins to open his mouth, then shuts it slowly. He stands, dripping onto the simple wooden floor. Kes’s eyes are exhausted, brimming with tears. This fight is too familiar, an echo of the past. He removes his cloak and collapses into his armchair, raking a hand over his face.

Shame lodged in his throat like a pebble, Poe crouches in front of the hearth and busies himself with making a fire. He wants to cry, too, at the senselessness of it all. After the kindling catches, he finally dares to look at this father again. For a moment they regard each other with equal parts vulnerability, then Kes exhales with a weary sigh.

“What if it’s Rey they take from you next time?”

Poe’s face scrunches at the very suggestion, imagining it even for a moment is painful. But Rey is powerful. Kind. Her empathy extends to the dragons also. Still, it’s a possibility. Kes’s forehead puckers, confident his point was made.

“Do you believe Ren… about being able to control dragons?” Poe’s voice has lost its edge, nearly cracking in one final appeal. His legs cross under him, and he prods the log in the hearth absently. “What if they could be gentle if we train them? You don’t know…”

“I won’t waste thoughts on fantasy. A leader must focus on reality.”

“But if it’s true, then we have a responsibility to—“

“The only responsibility I have- that we have- is to Vikings. Not to a creature that would just as soon destroy us.”

“There has to be a way to coexist!” Poe argues, voice low but vehement.

“Tell it to your mother.”

With the invocation of their shared loss, Kes rises from the chair and stomps to his bedroom, leaving a frigid atmosphere in their home despite the growing fire. Poe is inheriting his parent’s war, and in the morning he will have to choose which side he is truly on.


	10. Brought Us Together

Crisp sea air tousles his curls as Poe stands at the cliff’s edge. It’s his favorite spot, where he would come with his mother as a child. Arms outstretched against the wind, he would cry, “I’m higher than the clouds!” as she laughed. Today the memory brings only nominal comfort, and a worry that standing against cruelty would be a betrayal of her memory. She’s supposed to be there, in the arena cheering as Poe truly becomes a man, in the service of his people as a member of the venerable Dameron family. It’s a time-honored tradition meant to unite the community against a common enemy and usher in a life transition for young Vikings. 

Today, Poe Dameron is meant to kill a dragon before the applauding population of Yavin.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Poe turns to find Rey stepping out of the clearing. He sits on the outcropping of moss-covered stones and pats the surface of one next to him in invitation. She joins him, hands neatly folded across her knees.

“Happy Birthday, Sunshine.”

A half-hearted smile wobbles before dying on Rey’s lips. Upon examination, her face is pink, eyelids puffy in the pastel light of the first sunrise.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replies, chin up. For the first time, she notices the leather sketchbook in Poe’s lap. It’s open to the rendering of the Night Fury and a diagram of the prosthetic tail. Poe sighs, closing the book.

He snaps a twig in half, tossing one half over the cliff’s edge with a wide swing of his arm. “Neither one of us is really fine today.”

“It… was also a long night.”

“What happened?”

“Plutt got on a bloody rant, yelling that I owe him for getting me those boots and for the time I’ve wasted training when I should be working…”

“What?!” Poe throws his hands up. For some time, he’s suspected Plutt withholds Rey’s wages. This confirms it. “And they don’t even fit you! And you can’t even use them since they burned.”

“That doesn’t matter to him.”

“Your time isn’t wasted training if that’s what you want to do.”

“He says I’ll never make it through the tournament. That I’m a nobody just waiting to embarrass myself out there. That the bakery is where I belong, a rolling pin in my hand rather than a blade.”

“Plutt has absolutely no idea what you’re capable of,” Poe insists with a hand over hers. Of course the old drunk would exploit Rey’s low self esteem, but his cruel words contained no truth. She stares at the burnt leather soles in shame. It’s one thing to fight a Terror or even be Force-sensitive, quite another to live under the thumb of a man like Plutt for years. He wills himself to speak, rather than shout, adding, “No one has the right to control you like this. I don’t care who he is. He’s been forcing you to run his business and drinking away all the profit… Everyone’s been looking the other way for too long, not wanting to get involved in a family matter but I’m not going to let him keep —“

Almost imperceptible, Rey’s head shakes. Her accented voice shifts in tone. “I can handle myself.”

“I know,” Poe answers earnestly. She’s one of the strongest people he’s ever known. “Though what good is my family’s privilege if I won’t even defend the girl I —“

Rey’s face is bathed in suspense. Poe catches himself before he jumps off _that_ particular cliff, skidding to a verbal halt before he can declare his feelings. In this moment, her eyes contain more depth than the turbulent waters below and the ring around Poe’s neck hangs heavier than ever.

“Don’t!” Rey pleads, clearly from experience. “It’ll only make matters worse. Plutt isn’t keen on being told what he can and cannot do.”

“I won’t let him work you to death. Or steal from you.”

“If I can just become a dragon fighter, I’ll be able to get out of the bakery and… and...” Rey deflates, refusing to meet Poe’s gaze. She’s bluntly honest with everyone but herself. Waiting for a man like that to change is like bleeding to death slowly, and they both know it. “And it’s not worth arguing with Plutt. Please don’t get involved.”

Poe scrubs a hand over his dense black beard. “Should’ve fed him to the Night Fury when we had the chance.”

Rey doesn’t laugh, instead scowling in trepidation.

“Poe. Promise me you won’t get involved.”

Planting his hands on his hips, Poe’s eyes blaze with indignation on her behalf. It’s a promise he can’t make.

“Know what you are?” Rey snaps.

“What?” 

“Difficult. Really difficult. You’re a difficult —“

Rey is cut off by a male voice calling from the trail. “Hello?”

On his feet immediately, Poe casts a wary glance at Rey, who shrugs in confusion herself. He stuffs the sketchbook into his vest. “Who’s there?”

The dark-skinned trapper from Coruscant emerges from the brush, the one who hinted at the ability to train a dragon.

“Finn, son of…” Poe begins to say out of habit before he catches it, “Finn. Hi. Good morning.”

“Still just Finn,” he smiles, walking closer. “Sorry. I… wanted to speak to you. The chief said you’d probably be here.”

Internally, Poe warms at the fact that Kes knows this. Finn’s face is kind, so different than the other guests from Coruscant, but he is still one of them. Instinct at odds with logic, Poe choses to trust him for now. “No, it’s alright. I’ve been eager to talk to you.

“Rey, Finn was telling me about training dragons,” Poe offers in explanation.

It’s Rey’s turn to be slack-jawed, looking over Finn then back to Poe. “You. Train. Dragons.”

“Yes, but it’s not just that —“

Brow knitting with skepticism, Rey asks, “really?”

“How?”

Finn digs a hand into his pocket, and cautiously steps toward Rey. She feels at ease with him, and that makes Poe relax substantially.

Something is hidden in the warmth of Finn’s palm. He offers it to Rey with an outstretched hand. A little flour rims her fingernails from the morning’s work as she meets the stranger’s grasp. Jealousy slices Poe like a paper cut; deep and unseen. Finn is connecting with her, something tender in his eye before he deposits the contents of his pocket into her hand.

It’s a crystal shard, yellow as a daffodil petal.

“What is this?” Rey gasps as the kyber’s light undulates softly against her skin.

More of the mysterious crystal, same as Ren’s crimson scabbard.

“We control them with this. Kyber. Same as your blade.”

“The dragon stone,” Poe mutters. “The Seeress called it that.”

It might explain why the dragons seemed to dance and even bend to Rey’s will, even as adversaries in the arena. Why B.B. was so enraptured by the crystal mounted in the hilt of her sword. Kyber supposedly heightens one’s strength in the Force.

Tugging at the strap across her chest that holds the sword to her back, Rey thinks about creatures just like B.B., suffering for a cause they didn’t choose. “Do you hurt them?”

“Most of the trainers do,” Finn frowns. Rey can feel that he isn’t in that category, but still senses an air of regret around the young man. Poe rests a comforting hand on Rey’s arm. “There are really strict requirements for our warriors.”

The three of them form a triangle around Rey’s upturned palm. Poe lets go, taking a few steps toward the cliff’s drop to scan the waters as well as the sky beyond the island. “What do you train them to do?”

“Kill. At our command.”

“Kill who?” Rey’s voice is laced with fear, breathy even as it competes with the squawking of porgs and roar of the sea.

“Anyone who gets in the way of The Order. Their expansion, their mission. Far as they are concerned, if you’re not with them, you’re against them.”

“Do you ever fly with the dragons?”

A quizzical look flashes across Finn’s face, his curved brows lifting high. “That’d be suicide.”

“We have,” Poe answers. It’s surreal to say it aloud. Rey smiles again, though it’s too soft to show her dimples. “We’ve rode on the back of one. It’s possible to connect with them without violence… but no one wants to listen.”

Disbelief gives way to a curious acceptance as Finn examines them both again. The dashing chief’s son, clearly headstrong with a penchant for risk taking. The baker girl who transforms into a fierce Valkryrie once her boots hit the arena sand. These two are just unpredictable enough for it to be true. “But the tournament?”

“We’re the only two who even know about the dragon,” Rey explains. “Kind of happened by accident, really.”

“And how does one accidentally train a dragon?”

Nudging Poe with her hip, Rey huffs. “Ask him.”

“Tried to kill him but we became friends. It wasn’t planned… but he’s gone now. Returned to the nest.” Poe’s tone hardens in resignation. “The tournament is tradition, a Yavinese rite of passage. No one else holds our views of dragons as anything other than the enemy. Sometimes you just have to do what’s expected.”

Nodding, Finn considers the explanation without judgement. He carries his own burden of shame due to Coruscant’s expectations.

“Why are you helping us?” Poe asks bluntly.

Finn’s response is automatic. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“You need a way out.”

“I need a way out.”

“Wait, Finn. How did you know that I was...?” Rey asks, knowing she doesn’t have to compete the sentence for him to understand. “Was it my blade?”

“It’s an instinct,” he says simply. “A feeling. The Force brought us together.”

“Are you a Jedi?”

“Definitely not.

“Ren has been searching for a partner to unite with for some time. When I saw you in the arena, your talent was obvious. We’ve all been trained on how to identify signs of sensitivity but with you…” Finn’s eyes flick to Rey and hold steady. “I just felt it.”

The intimacy of it twinges painfully in Poe’s ear, but he believes it. Odin help him, he believes it.

“The Order is building an empire using a dragon army. For the average, non-Force user, it’s a lot easier to train a dragon when you’ve got a Kyber crystal on your side.”

“What does that have to do with Yavin?” Poe asks, thinking back to the red markers spreading across the map like an epidemic. His own father bending to pressure, shaking the hand of a man who didn’t have the decency to make eye contact during a treaty. Maz’s cryptic warning sounds again in his ears as he recalls the venomous energy that radiated from Ren during the meeting.

“I’m not sure. He’s searching for something special, he thinks it’s here.” Finn accepts the crystal back into his possession, slipping it into his pocket for safe keeping. “Whatever it is, if Ren finds it, it won’t be good. For anyone.”

Despite how cruelly the world has treated her, Rey still cradles optimism. “We have to tell your dad, Poe.”

“First, there’s someone Finn should meet.”

————

A group of children skip along, eager for the tournament to begin. They playfully spar with sticks fashioned to look like swords and axes, laughing and jumping with cries of “kill it!” and “I’m gonna be best!”

“Poe! It’s Poe!” Crowding around him, the kids clamor for attention as they yell over each other. “He’s gonna kill the dragon today!”

“Hey, little womp rats,” he chuckles. Comically large helmets wobble as he pats them on the head.

“Rey!” they shout in unison, leaving Poe behind as they rush toward the shy but impressive fighter. “Rey! You were so fast!”

“Thank you!” Her grin is dazzling as she kneels to their height.

“Did you see when she did the somersault?” One boy cries, and the others hoot in recollection. “First she was like _fwoooosh_ then the Terror was like_ rwaaaak!_”

Elbowing through the small cluster, Suralinda’s little sister in triple-braided buns declares, “I did my hair like yours! Look!”

Rey squeaks with delight at the approximation of her style, freckled cheeks infusing with heat from the attention.

“Who’s your friend?”

“This is Finn,” Poe announces, a hand clasped at the man’s shoulder casually. “He’s from Coruscant.”

“Wow.” Two starry-eyed twins look up at the man in awe. Finn lets out an uncomfortable laugh at the flattery. Rey jerks her chin in a ‘keep walking’ gesture, grateful the children’s focus has been redirected. Poe runs a hand through his already windswept curls, casting an resentful glance toward the bakery as they pass by, making another assurance to Finn that she can be trusted.

Soon they stand at the threshold of Maz Kanata’s cottage. Banthas lo slowly in the dewy grass, barely taking notice as they rap on the door of the village midwife and Seeress. After a moment, the door creaks open a sliver.

“I assume you need something. Desperately.”

“Maz...” Poe summons his father’s notorious charm to little avail. No use arguing with her assessment.

She turns to Rey with more enthusiasm. “Good morning, dear.”

“Good morning, Maz,” she smiles. “Unfortunately, we didn’t bring you breakfast this time.”

“No matter. Let’s get to it.” With a mutter, she opens the door to welcome them inside. The trio sits at the rustic table littered with jars of salves and dried herbs, shifting awkwardly in the tiny seats. “Who’s the newcomer?”

Rey gestures politely, “This is Finn, a dragon trapper from Coruscant.”

“Meet Maz. Our village Seeress.”

The diminutive woman stares at Finn, adjusting her glasses by twisting the lenses clockwise for a handful of agonizingly silent seconds. She takes in his monochromatic clothing, the foreign insignia stitched upon his breast through eyes that perceive beyond the physical.

“What’s she doing?” Finn is visibly uncomfortable, leaning toward Poe for an explanation that doesn’t come.

“Shhhhh…” Rey advises.

Finally, Maz clears her throat and speaks. “You have shed blood for a cause you don’t believe in.”

“You have no idea where I come from,” Finn protests, voice low and even. “What I’ve seen.”

Poe intercedes on his behalf, “He’s here to help. Maz, just listen.”

Crossing her arms, she leans back into a chair, awaiting his elaboration. Rey nods at Finn in encouragement.

“Ren- the Supreme Leader- is here because he’s looking for something, and it’s not just another ally. There’s something here. Information, a weapon, I don’t know… Just that he’s obsessed with it.”

“Please tell us more about the prophecy,” Rey pleads. “The one foretold in…”

Poe procures his sketchbook and slips the folded pages from between its worn cover. Carefully, he unfolds them to reveal the faded diagrams and odd writing.

“Ahh, yes.” The Seeress takes the pages in her arthritic hands, bringing them to the light of a candle. Her magnified eyes dart between Finn, Rey, and Poe as she translates the incomplete text. 

“It’s the day of your birth?” Maz asks warily, returning the cryptic pages to Poe, who folds them back into his notebook.

“Yes,” Rey confirms. “How did you know?”

“You were a Caulbearer.” The midwife says it with calm certainty, despite never attending a birth on Rey’s home island of Jakku. She explains the significance of an intact amniotic sack surrounding a newborn, creating a veil between worlds. A rarity. An omen.

“I don’t know… Maybe? My uncle never said anything about it.”

“Pity the next page is missing…” Maz ignores her, trailing off to the trio’s chagrin. She grasps at a mortar and pestle, grinding herbs into a fine powder before funneling them into a jar.

Patience at an end, Poe leans across the miniature table. “Annihilation. You said that last time we were here. Finn says The Order isn’t to be trusted.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t trust them,” she shrugs.

“Try telling that to my dad. He’s so adamant about securing an alliance that he’s ignoring every red flag along the way.”

“Ahh Poe, you were born in a thunderstorm. Your mother labored for days, such a difficult boy.”

“Still is,” Rey interjects. “Please, tell us what to do? What does the prophecy say?”

“That a Caulbearer will join forces with an enemy.”

But which enemy: the dragons or The Order? Rey’s expression is more curious than offended as Maz continues.

“Poe was early. The earliest babe I’ve ever caught that’s survived. Your mother…” The intense magnification of her glasses reveals a dew-rimmed edge to Maz’s eyes. Even years after her death, Shara Bey has that effect on people. “She never doubted your strength, told me you were just too excited to wait. A caul surrounded you as well.”

Rey turns to Poe askance, his possible involvement in the prophecy a new revelation, if the Seeress is to be trusted. Finn quirks a skeptical brow.

“I’d never betray Yavin,” Poe asserts, knuckles blanching as he wrings the leather cover of his sketchbook- the contents of which suggest otherwise. A chair leg drags across the floor with a harsh squeal as he rises.

“I didn’t say that.” The old midwife yawns as another sprig of green is crushed under her pestle.

“She always this helpful?” Finn mutters from the corner of his mouth to a frowning Rey.


	11. Doesn’t Surprise Me

Poe stomps out of Maz’s cottage, chilled by the implication of the prophecy. It’s clear what he must do now.

“Wait!” Rey shouts after him, weaving through the crowd of villagers already beginning to move toward the arena. She bumps a merchant, nearly making them drop their basket of ripe koyo, before scrambling to pick it up. Finn trails behind, waving goodbye to Rey as he leaves to rejoin Ren, Admiral Hux and Captain Phasma.

Finally, Poe whips around and she can see the pain etched across his handsome brow. “I have to tell my dad… I have to warn him.”

“Maybe I can help?” Rey suggests, softening as she closes the distance between them. His head shakes but he reaches his hands out.

“He and I need to talk alone first,” he tries to explain but words fall short. Rey’s hands slot into his with a comforting squeeze, even though they stand in the middle of the square. She understands.

Their hands hold fast, arms stretching to maintain contact for as long as possible as they separate. Poe craves the warmth of her soft palms, the reassurance of her presence but this is something between him and his father. Rey’s hazel eyes remain on him as he jogs home, villagers young and old milling around as she sighs in apprehension.

She makes her way to the bakery, to her secret retreat where she hides when Plutt’s mean streak gets fueled by ale. As she turns the corner, Rey’s footsteps are halted by a voice. It’s not the inebriated growl of her uncle but something even darker.

“Of course,” Ren explains through the distortion of his helmet as Rey listens with her back against the wall, “in Coruscant it is custom to offer a bridewealth.”

“She’s not my daughter.” Plutt’s arms remain crossed in a defensive stance. Rey can’t help but think he resembles a toad, wide and squat with a sour mouth as he studies the stranger. “But the girl is worth a lot to me. She runs the day-to-day here.”

“It would be a generous amount, Mister Plutt.”

“How generous?”

“Two slaves in exchange for her hand. They’re from Hays Minor, about her age. Strong. Easy on the eyes.”

Rey’s dainty ears burn crimson as she realizes these men- a masked stranger and her own uncle- are negotiating her marriage and using women as currency. Arranged unions are not completely unheard of, but they’re far from typical. Back pressed against the wall, she fumes.

“We can’t keep slaves here, not since Kes Dameron took charge.”

“And what purpose does that serve?” Ren asks.

Plutt shrugs. “I’ve never counted myself a fan of the Damerons. I’m from Jakku originally so he’s not my chief.”

“Yes, we are allied with Jakku. Labor is a critical aspect of our trade agreement. As to your own labor issue, I’m sure an exchange could be arranged. The girls can easily be compelled into… discretion, should you change your mind.” Ren decides to further tempt Plutt. A gloved hand disappears into his cloak and re-emerges filled with shiny credits. “Besides, leadership on this island is in flux and it might do you well to stay within my good graces.”

Plutt’s grin exposes a mouthful of rotten teeth as the stack slides across the knotted grain of the bakery’s counter.

Incensed by the Supreme Leader’s words, she decides no one- not Plutt, not any man- will dictate the trajectory for her life. The union between a Caulbearer and an enemy of Yavin would not be Rey’s marriage to a creature in a mask. Especially considering she was already in love with someone.

She turns, sprinting down the smooth stone path toward the cottage shared by Poe and Kes.

\--------

“Dad, I have to—”

Han’s face greets Poe when the door opens, eyes ablaze over scraggly brows. It wasn’t the face he is expecting to meet after his arrival home. “What are you doing here?!”

“Where’s my dad? It’s important.”

“He’s already at the arena. Where you oughta be!” Han explains with annoyance. “I came back here looking for you.”

Trumpets are already announcing the start of the annual dragon-fighting showcase tournament by the time Poe pulls on his leather trousers and a fresh tunic. He practically skids into place, armor clanking conspicuously as they arrive at the arena. Chewie is double-checking the stock of weapons and shields, testing the trap door for safety at the far side of the sand pit. The rest of the graduates are already lined up at the mouth of the arena, outside of the crowd’s line of sight.

“Anyone seen Rey?” Han asks, searching the crowd and the horizon for any sign. “We can’t keep holding the crowd with those musicians.”

“I heard a rumor there’s a Razorwhip here!” Jessika says to no one in particular. Her black hair is pulled back into an elegant braid, her leather forearm gauntlets finished with laces around the edges. “Did you know they can shoot barbs out of their tails?”

“They’re gonna realize we’re vamping, if they haven’t already.” Suralinda’s turquoise war paint is faintly cracking at the corners of her eyes. Her voice is washed in concern. “But we can’t start without Rey.”

“She’s…” Poe sees the streak of Rey run down the trail in the distance and his chest sags in relief. “She’s right here.” Poe’s thoughts return to his father. His place in Yavin.

Kes Dameron the Fearless sits in a boxed section centered over the pit. Two empty seats border his- one typically reserved for Poe and the other which had been empty since Shara Bey was lost. Beyond that, Kes is flanked by his own General Antilles and Admiral Calrissian. Decked out in their finest for the occasion, Kes’s usual sage cloak has been traded for a luxurious fur style.

Just two seats to his right, Ren the Supreme Leader of Coruscant sits with his own small entourage.

Rey is breathless, leaning against Poe as her heart rattles like a war drum when she finally catches up to the rest of the group.

Immediately Han rushes to her side, placing the flat of his hand against her sweat-misted forehead. “Whoa, ya feeling alright? Do we need to call Maz?”  
  
“No!” Both Poe and Rey blurt in unison.

“Absolutely not,” Poe mumbles over Rey’s “That might actually…”

They stop when their eyes make contact and let out an awkward huff of a laugh. Rey’s cheeks are rosebuds, her smile sunshine itself. Her hand is still bracing Poe’s arm, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“No. No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Han crosses his arms, pursing his lips as he asks, “What’s gotten into you two? Is it nerves?”

Rey nods, somewhat embarrassed.

“Yeah,” Poe admits. Rey removes her hand as he straightens.

“I guess so. It’s a big day.”

“And you wanted to talk to your dad before going out in front of the whole village to prove what a man you are?”

The sluggish gulp in Poe’s throat is involuntary.

Han softens, crossed arms rearranging to place a hand on Poe’s opposite shoulder. When he and Kes were young, they’d been in this same tournament together. “He’s proud of you. So proud of you for following in your ancestor’s footsteps today.” Han’s eyes flick to Rey. “You too. Kes- err, the chief- he cares about you too, Rey. We’ve all watched you both grow up and the whole community is proud. You’re the stars of this tournament.”

Chewie motions to Han, holding up a single finger to Rey before darting into an area with storage chests. He rummages around then emerges with a lump of fabric, which is thrusted at Rey without words. Hesitantly, she accepts and begins to unravel it. Poe leans in, discovering a pair of off-white boots in Rey’s hands and shimmering tears in her eyes.

“For me?” she breathes.

“They used to belong to my wife, Leia.”

“I couldn’t!”

“Believe me, she’d approve of you walking in her footsteps,” Han assures. Chewie garbles in agreement and Poe gives a half-smile that tells her it’s true.

The look on Rey’s face is inscrutable, delicate mouth finally turning up at the corners a second after the onslaught of emotion. 

“Know what my dad calls you?” Poe asks his mentor, slinging an arm around him before the mood shifts too much. “Han the Huggable.”

Rolling his eyes, Han lets out a ‘_pfffft’_ as Rey discards her burned boots and slips her feet into the pair once owned by Leia.

“Nice!” Karè chimes in, admiring the intricate stitching over the ankles. Rey’s tunic is a soft bone color under her chest plate, complementing the dye of the boots.

Smiling in disbelief, Rey stretches out her lean legs, flexing and extending her feet to get a proper view. “They’re a perfect fit.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Han smirks. He won’t allow her to thank him, shushing her with a fatherly hug when she tries. After a couple hearty pats on the back, Rey pulls away with a brilliant grin. “Happy birthday, kiddo.”

Time passes in a blur of furtive glances between Rey and Poe, an anxious quiet falling over the usually boisterous group of friends as they mentally prepare for what is the biggest event of their lives, up until this point.

“Today,” the chief’s deep timbre casts a hush over the rapt audience, “We usher these young people into adulthood. Today, Yavin is strengthened by the addition of six new Vikings.”

Chewie flips a lever and the door leading to the arena yawns open. Snap and Karè lead, stepping onto the sand with hands interlaced. Hoots and applause erupt, intensifying as Suralinda joins them with a showy flourish of her mace. Jessica follows, with a sweet wave to her family in the stands.

After another nod from Han, Poe steels himself with a deep inhalation and strides into the arena with his shoulders thrown back and his family’s blade firmly within his grasp. The sea of faces is staggering, with the entire community watching their every move. Immediately, his eyes find the boxed section where Kes sits regally and they connect. Poe is struck by how lonely Kes looks in the middle of it all- stoic as his pride will allow on such a momentous day- as the township goes berserk.

The only faces in the audience not cheering in a mix of patriotism and support are those of the Coruscant visitors. Finn claps politely, with tempered cheers at appropriate times while the others remain dour despite the revelry surrounding them.

Then their interest is piqued. Ren’s energy shifts, all attention fixed on a single point.

Nearly deafening, all of Yavin rises to its feet to cheer for the final competitor. Rey enters, her chin aloft with a modest dignity. Refusing to scan the audience for her sole relative on the island, she wears a determined squint venturing into the open space of the pit.

Han joins the group and begins to speak about the importance of their traditional tournament to the audience, and what to expect from the exhibition. The young Vikings cluster together instinctively, iron bars clattering with the scraping of claw and scale as Han addresses the rules for the audience and the competitors. Smoke begins to billow over the sand as their adversaries grow restless.

_The dragons on the other side of those bars are not B.B., _Poe reminds himself. _That’s the sound of their impatience to kill you._

Kes graciously accepts a round of horns of ale when a vendor comes through, insisting on both a payment and generous tip even though it was offered gratis to the chief. He passes four to his guests, Captain Phasma and Admiral Hux looking sullen as they sip. Finn nods in gratitude, a genuine smile on his face after the first taste of the potent brew.

Kes leans closer to Ren, who he hopes will warm with the celebration. The man still hasn’t removed his helmet, and holds his horn in his lap rather than to his lips.

Jovially, the chief points out Rey with a fond expression. “That’s my future daughter-in-law!”

A deep voice rumbles from under the helmet. Somehow it sounds almost defiant to Kes’s ears, even amidst the noise. “Is that so?”


	12. Gonna Go Wrong

Shrieking with unbridled aggression, the Nightmare bursts through the gate. Its scales dance with glowing embers after listening to the agitating sound of the crowd so long. Snap’s fingers wind around his shield, and Karè moves to stand back-to-back with her partner. The dragon climbs across the fencing on the top of the arena, rattling the metal as it goes. Recalling their teamwork lesson, the couple utilizes both shield and axe.

Rey and Poe shout encouragement from the sidelines as their friends maneuver around the beast. Each pair of competitors will face a unique species. The tournament will close with Poe and Rey in a death match against a Razorwhip.

From the stands, Ren looks on, impassive to the showcase of brute strength. Occasionally, he comments or criticizes through his helmet to one of his companions.

With a defeated hiss, the Nightmare is soon backed into the trap door leading to the cages. It slams shut as Karè and Snap take a bow for their screaming fans.

Jessika and Suralinda challenge a Deadly Nadder. Jess rattles off the stats of their adversary, formulating a plan of attack based on known weaknesses. Suralinda serves as the muscle. They execute a series of impressive hits which send the Deadly Nadder cowering. From the audience, her grandmother whistles, the wear of many cycles mark her joyful yet fragile face.

After the two matches, Chewie re-stocks the arena with two shields. Communicating with Han using hand gestures, he confirms everything is ready. Then it’s time.

Rey and Poe step to the center of the empty arena, wild hearts pounding, weapons in hand. She walks in the shoes of another woman- literally- taking in the energy of this place. There’s jubilant celebration, tinted with darkness beyond the violence of the tournament. Immediately, she finds Ren in the box seats, hiding under the mask like a coward.

“If anything goes wrong, warn my dad about Ren.” Poe squeezes her free hand, which carries a small tremor.

“Promise me nothing’s gonna go wrong,” Rey replies. A nervous, crooked smile illuminates Poe’s face.

“Okay, nothing’s gonna go wrong,” he parrots, earning a thin wisp of a laugh. A metallic thud echoes through the arena as Chewie wrenches the last gate open.

Two purple eyes are the only feature visible through the shadow and smoke. It steps out, revealing a shimmering coat of silver, fish-like scales. White wings tipped in amethyst rise from its back, and a slender tail drags across the sand. Lowering its snout, the Razorwhip sends a puff of sand upwards with its breath. Adrenaline, sweat and fear saturate the air, mingling with the smoke.

Everything Poe has been preparing himself for fades away. Tradition will not dictate the murder of this animal by his hand. Even if that means to his father, to the village, he won’t become a true Viking man. But he can _show_ Kes: prove a peaceful relationship with dragons is possible. What will happen after that is anyone’s guess.

Oppression is familiar to Rey; it’s a cycle she refuses to be complacent in. Determination for justice lights Poe’s dark eyes and Rey falls in love a little bit more. They’re in this together- even if they are about to be forsaken by all Yavin.

Ren’s eyes narrow under his helmet, and a gloved hand hovers over the scabbard at his belt. Kyber casts a wicked glow under his cloak as he begins to mutter to the Razorwhip. Manipulating the Force, he wills it into his command. The silver dragon twitches, alternating between ears lifted and lowered. It lunges at Poe, who lifts his shield in defense. Rey intimidates it back, giving the creature a wide berth with each swing to avoid hitting it.

Finn, noticing the red glow emanating from Ren’s cloak, stands up. “Ren, stop. Don’t do this.”

“You question the will of your Supreme Leader?”

“They’ve done nothing to you. Yavin has done nothing to you— “_as if that changed anything for Hays Minor or Hosnia, _Finn remembers. “You don’t have to do this.”

”I’ve heard enough. This is the last time you question my methods, my judgement,” Ren growls under his mask. He turns to Captain Phasma. “Get rid of this traitor.”

The point of her blade is already wedged between his ribs before he formulates a response. With her reflexes, a fight would end before it even began if he tried anything. Phasma straightens to her full height-about seven inches taller than Finn. Her dagger's point penetrates the wool of his cloak, stopping when it meets skin. A chilling smile is audible in Phasma’s voice. “With pleasure, sir.”

Finn’s gaze flits to Kes Dameron, only a few seats away. He notices Kes holds his breath every time the mirrored beast staggers toward the couple- but the chief has no idea how much danger they are in.

”One word and everyone in this village is dead,” Hux threatens. He’s not one to make hollow threats. “You know we will.”

Finn watches the children in the stands, who shout in wonder as Rey dodges a flame with an acrobatic leap. Watches the frail yet feisty grandmother who cheered for Suralinda. Watches his new friends in the sand beneath them. Yavin would not suffer the same fate as Hosnia because of him. Temporarily resigned but formulating a plan for escape, Finn glares at Ren before rising. Hux offers a final, sneering grin before spinning around in his seat to watch the rest of the tournament. Wordless, Ren waves Phasma away as his attention returns to Rey.

Down in the sand, a shaky breath fills Rey’s chest and her forehead presses against Poe’s. Her sword tips down as her arm relaxes. Impulsively, he tilts in and crashes into her lips, volume of the spectators increasing twofold. A chuckling Admiral Calrissian watches, nudging Kes. A smirk lifts his face at the guilty pleasure of seeing the budding romance. He knows the replica of Shara's ring is under Poe's armor, awaiting Rey's "yes."

“Ooooh, love on the battlefield!” Karè heckles from the other side of the fence where she and the other competitors are recovering.

“Eh.” Suralinda gingerly pokes at a shallow gash on her thigh. “She can do better.”

Rey’s cheeks and ears burn scarlet as Poe pulls back. The smile on his face is part cheeky, part apologetic. She feels conflicted at such a public display, but she wouldn’t replace that kiss with anything. “You’re gonna get in trouble, pretty boy.”

”Won’t be the first time.”

Rey shrugs weakly, knowing neither she nor Poe can condemn the dragon to death. But neither knows what it will cost them yet.

With a solemn nod, Poe lowers his blade to the ground first. He sets it down respectfully, painfully aware of its history and significance.

“What’s he doing?” Wrinkles scrunch on Kes’s brow. General Antilles shakes his head. Rey follows, dropping her sword. The blue of the kyber is brilliant even from the elevated box. They watch in befuddlement as undulating light shines on silver scales.

The Razorwhip growls menacingly, stalking toward the two unarmed Vikings. The shields are next, two dull wooden thuds in the sand.

“What’s he— “Kes breathes. Then he’s on his feet, shouting to Chewie in a commanding baritone. His meaty hand makes a cutting motion across his throat. “Stop the fight! Stop the fight!”

Slowly, Poe removes his tauntaun-horn helmet and casts it aside. It rolls across the sand as the dragon’s head cocks in confusion. “We’re not like them.”

“Rey! Poe!” Han yells as Chewie holds the release door open for them to make an escape- but they don’t run toward it.

“No. You need to see this,” Rey says, resolute though her entire body is quaking. “You need to see how they really are.”

”We don’t have to be enemies with dragons.” Poe’s fingers stretch toward the snout of the Razorwhip. They are also trembling from the cocktail of social pressure and danger. “We can connect with them, using trust and respect.”

It’s hesitant, skeptical, inching forward.

“It’s okay.” Rey takes a knee, lowering herself into the warmed sand. Poe does the same. “We’re not gonna hurt you.”

Vibrant aubergine eyes blink at them, as round and curious as B.B.’s had been the first time. It allows Poe’s fingertips to brush over its pointed snout. Rey beams, turning toward the stunned audience.

In the stands, seats away from Kes, Ren raises a hand, focusing sinister intention through the Force. The Razorwhip’s pupils constrict and its ears prick back. Something is terribly wrong.

“I said stop the fight!” Kes bellows.

Suddenly, the dragon’s body language shifts. Tail barbs stand erect, when a moment ago they lie smooth and relaxed along the spine. It roars, and Poe throws himself stomach-down, flat against the sand. He narrowly avoids a spewing of molten rage when a flame erupts from its mouth. Rolling aside, he tucks into a protective ball.

Rey hops, vaulting straight up into the smoke-hazed air as the flames singe the bottom of her pants. She lands in a fighting stance as the fire recedes, finding Poe as he untucks and runs. Searching frantically for their discarded shields, Rey reaches, drawing one toward her. It's in her grip before she can register how. She holds it up as the Razorwhip brandishes its tail and shrieks again. Lowering it, she discovers a cluster of thin barbs stuck in the circle of wood.

Steps away, Poe clutches his left hand, face wrenched in pain. Barbs from the tail impale it completely through the palm and back out the other side. Rey gasps, running to offer cover.

“Urgh,” Poe grunts. Instinctively grabbing at his wounded hand, he ducks into the protection of her shield. “This is not ideal.”

“You promised nothing would go wrong!” Rey grumbles as the hissing creature stalks them.

“Because you made me,” Poe answers, ripping the barbs out with a stifled yelp. Faintly, he registers the rectangular shape in his back pocket. His sketchbook, tucked into the back pocket, presses against the bars of the arena. A deep growl from the Razorwhip sets the hair on the back of his neck on end. “Shhhhh… Easy. Easy.”

Rey channels her energy into a single request through the Force: her sword. This time it doesn’t appear in her hand a moment later. On the sand, it spins as a wheel set in motion. She squints, perplexed.

In the audience, Ren is leaning forward, drawing the kyber crystal to himself. The stone is uncooperative, pulled to Rey before shifting direction back to him. And so, the sword spins, torn between Rey and the Supreme Leader of Coruscant. It infuriates him, being locked in a test of wills with this baker girl from a backwater isle. This _no one. _Directing his attention back to the dragon, Ren calls for a stronger attack. Barbed tail held aloft, the Razorwhip skulks forward with murder in its eyes.

On the periphery of her vision, Rey can see Snap’s arms waving frantically, but she still calls the kyber-encrusted sword. With a start, it’s there. Her knuckles blanch as she grips the hilt and raises it in defense. Poe takes the shield, covering her as she advances.

Ren mutters a curse under his breath at the defeat. The girl is strong with the Force. Untrained, but stronger than she knows.

A familiar shadow travels across the ground. Something is soaring down from the overcast sky, accompanied by a deafening roar.

“Niiiiight Fury!” Han points when the telltale aura of orange-tinted smoke gives way to reveal shining black scales.

“B.B.?” Rey gasps, eyes filled with hope.

With a white-hot fireball shot from his mouth, B.B. melts a hole in the upper fencing of the arena. He flies through the opening, swooping in fierce as he tackles the Razorwhip.

Dense smoke floods in the arena, obscuring all as the people scream. About a quarter are running for cover, protecting children or the elderly. The rest are on their feet and searching for a weapon.

Locked in vicious battle, the dragons tumble in a yin-yang of silver and black. A plume of smoke enshrouds the arena, obscuring all but the heat and shrieks and shake of ground as they wrestle. When the smoke somewhat clears, the Razorwhip retreats through the trapdoor toward the cages; the cramped quarters are a relative safety compared to the anger of the loyal B.B.

Triumphant over the dragon who threatened his friends, B.B. nudges Rey with affection and assumes a protective stance in front of Poe.

“Buddy! You came for us?”

As the black dragon approaches his son, Kes leaps over the partition and grabs an axe. He runs to the gate of the arena, forcing it open with the double-ended blade.

Vikings young and old from the audience pour into the sand pit of the arena. Rey wills B.B. to be calm amidst, but he lets out a whimper of fear. She stands in front of him protectively, empty hands held up.

When the dragon aligns in the sights of his crossbow, Chewie is sideswiped by B.B.’s tail- prosthetic and all- landing in the sand a few meters away. A belligerent shout rings out and Kes charges straight for B.B.

Han is at the ready with the rescue hook for Rey, holding it out so he can jerk her back to safety by the waist.

”He’s protecting us!” Rey insists, but the sound swallowed up by the clanging of weapons and the calls for blood. “If you just— “

“Listen! Dad— “

Axe held high, Kes is a juggernaut, a furious mass of muscle and instinct. Before Poe can intervene, B.B.’s tail swings wide, knocking the back of his head against the iron bars. Disoriented, Poe watches it play out in double-vision. Rey kneels by his side, frowning as he licks some blood from his lip.

Kes is already swinging.

They wrestle, with B.B. quickly pinning the chief down. Kes wedges the handle of the axe between B.B.’s powerful jaws to avoid getting bitten. Heat emanating from deep within B.B.’s mouth begins to burn Kes’s hand and he grimaces.

In the audience, Ren laughs darkly at the chaotic melee. It’s even better than he planned. Reaching out in the Force, Ren directs the Night Fury to finish off the chief of Yavin. B.B.’s ears prick forward, then lay flat against his skull. His bright eyes darken, the vertical pupil within narrowing to a sliver.

“B.B.! No!” Poe shouts, tripping over a random citizen thrown back by the fireball. Rey scrambles to her feet. “Don’t hurt him!”

Poe’s warm voice shakes B.B. back into character. His ears wiggle, eyes refocusing to their usually round charm. He blinks, as if waking from a dream. Kes is still under a claw, jamming the axe handle between rows of teeth. B.B. halts, completely still as he stares at the man who looks so much like Poe.

“Kill him. Kill Chief Dameron,” Ren orders. The crimson crystal of his scabbard ignites in greed and bloodlust. With a snap of the dragon’s powerful jaw, the axe handle is reduced to splinters. B. B’s obsidian wings spread, enveloping the arena in darkness.

“Dad!” Poe screams in horror. Everything is going wrong. Everything. Kes bares his teeth, chest heaving as he prepares to reunite with his dear Shara in Valhalla.

Closing her eyes, Rey appeals to the Force and the dragon and the gods for peace. She squeezes the hilt of the sword in desperation, and the aquamarine kyber shard twinkles with her sincerity. The Night Fury’s head twitches, ears swiveling from the mixed signals. His pupils round and widen. Dazed, B.B. shifts the weight of his foot off Kes’s chest but keeps the appendage there as his wings fold neatly. Whimpering, he cowers away from the stands in fear, shuffling back away from Kes.

“Poe?” The voice that has provided wisdom, love, and guidance his entire life splinters in betrayal, confusion, and devastation. Sand clings to his beard and ripped ceremonial cloak. 

B.B. slumps behind Rey in shame, as her eyes flit between the father and son. Hundreds more eyes are on them and she doesn’t know whether this is a win or a loss.

Kes stands and the dragon is overcome with instinct to protect his friends. He pulls at Rey’s tunic with a careful bite, hoisting her onto his back. He then noses between Poe’s legs, causing him to slip down far enough to straddle the dragon’s neck.

Rey protests, “B.B.! Put us down!”

In an instant, they are airborne. The arena, their friends, their families, their home grow smaller as they rise on onyx wings. Blinking hot tears away, Poe wonders if he will be welcome back to the community ever again. 

Down on solid ground, Kes struggles to make sense of what just unfolded. His only son… on the back of a dragon?

In the disorder, Ren slinks down from the box seats into the sand pit of the arena unnoticed. Rey had taken the kyber sword with her, but there may be something here of use yet.

“I want that Night Fury,” Ren spits at his red headed Admiral as they approach a small rectangular object half-hidden in the sand. He kneels, liberating it with a pinch of two fingers.

Hux is both perplexed and impressed as the couple escapes on the back of the dragon. They become a dark blot on the horizon then disappear completely. “They’re… riding it, sir?”

“We have what we need to find them," Ren asserts as a few weathered pages fall from the leather sketchbook he recovered. “Send a message to prepare the ships. When Phasma returns from dispatching that traitor scum, we hunt down the dragon and the girl.”


	13. I Know This Place

Finn keeps a steely gaze as the point of Captain Phasma’s knife draws a drop of blood from his rib. He walks faster, listening as the crowd in the stands erupts in cheers. “Down the steps,” she barks, and Finn obeys.

She drags him into the corridor leading to the cages at the back of the arena. The Deadly Nadder and Nightmare are licking their wounds after their battles. They flinch away from Phasma and Finn as they approach the cages. A wall of weaponry hangs opposite the cage: a war hammer, a spiked flail, a sword, a studded club, a mace.

As they pass it, Finn makes his move. He kicks out, swiping at Phasma’s booted feet. She stumbles, shiny armor clanking as she strikes the ground. The point of her blade drags against Finn’s cloak and skin as she falls backward.

Desperately, Finn’s hands clutch the club. The weight of the weapon is a little excessive for him, but he holds it high. Expression twisting with dark glee, Phasma pushes herself up on her elbows and selects a mace.

Finn strikes first, with a loud blow to her armor she blocks with a forearm. She retaliates with a swing of the mace, its pointed end dangerously close to Finn’s ear as it whooshes past. With this, Phasma growls, twisting as she swings to gain momentum. Every physical advantage is on her side.

“You were always scum,” Captain Phasma sneers at her opponent.

It might sting coming from anyone else, but considering it’s Phasma, Finn takes it as a badge of honor. He sees an opening, and his club meets her armor with a brutal clang. Weapons locked against each other; pain radiates up Finn's arm.

Above them, the arena fills with screams. Finn pushes her against the bars of the last cage. They reverberate off the walls and wrought bars as her icy blue eyes stare into his. Muscles twitching with the strain, he summons a last burst of energy as Phasma kicks out.

Silver streaks blur before Finn’s face. An inhuman shriek. And a human one.

He stumbles back, blinking in disbelief. The Razorwhip’s claw retracts into the cage, taking Captain Phasma along with it. Her mace lay on the sand, dropped in the swift movement. She struggles as she’s dragged into the cage, and Finn takes the opportunity to run out of the arena.

Shielding his eyes from the sun, he looks up in time to see Poe and Rey on the back of the Night Fury. His allies. Part of Finn sinks, wondering how he’ll survive here with Ren and Hux skulking around. Then it hits him: the batty old midwife. They trusted her.

Finn runs to Maz Kanata’s cottage, dodging a stray bantha in the pasture. The door of the barn is ajar, evidently how the shaggy beast got loose. He finds refuge inside, curled in a corner in the back away from the Spring calves and heifers. Arranging some straw to keep warm, Finn prepares to wait for the owner to return. 

\----——

“B.B. come on,” Poe chides. “This isn’t funny. We have to go back.”

The dragon banks, relying on his prosthetic wing. They avoid a dramatic outcropping of stone rising from the water. Weaving through them is a game to the dragon. Sea stacks dot the ocean surrounding the Archipelago, eroded from the rest of the island by relentless waves. They’re passing fewer now as B.B.’s powerful wings take them farther from Yavin’s shore.

Rey’s arms tighten around Poe’s waist, her head resting against his shoulder. She mutters something against it, but it’s muddled in the wind.

“What’s that?”

“I said he’s afraid to.” Rey’s voice is quiet. With her heart, she reaches out, connecting with the dragon. His ribcage expands and contracts beneath them with each intake of breath.

“It was Ren.” Poe turns over his shoulder as much as possible to see Rey’s face. Droplets of condensation cling to his black curls, souvenirs from traveling through a cloud. “If he hadn’t intervened— “

“Ren was controlling them. That’s why the Razorwhip attacked and why B.B. didn’t listen. He’s afraid of being unable to resist it. Of being commanded to hurt us. …but he’s also afraid of your dad.

“He’ll never understand. Didn’t you see that for yourself?”

“We have to go back,” Poe asserts again. “Not just to warn my dad but honestly, where is B.B. trying take us? The nest?”

Rey cringes. Running away didn’t sound terrible to her, all things considered. But the people didn’t deserve to be forsaken at their most vulnerable.

“Doubt he can keep us safe among a nest full of dragons. He might be afraid of Yavin- and I don’t blame him- but I don’t feel safe going there.

“We went in believing we could change 300 years of Viking past. That was more foolish was going into the pit anyway,” Poe sighs. “I knew Ren could control the dragons, and I knew he had plans to overthrow my dad. Of course, he’d try to kill me to prevent there from being a successor. It was foolish.”

Poe scratches B.B.’s forehead. His eyelids drop to relish the comfort of Rey’s arms around him. They feel like a lifeline. “I just… I thought we had a chance.”

“Nothing foolish about hope,” Rey replies softly but he hears. She interlaces their hands across Poe’s stomach. He clinches as they graze the puncture wounds from the Razorwhip’s barbs, but Rey’s frigid fingers somehow offer more warmth than both the suns combined. “But you know what I think?”

Poe stays silent. Porgs cry in the distance. To their left, another lone sea stack juts up from the waves defiantly. Some shrubbery and dozens of nests litter the craggy, salt-stained rock. He wonders if Rey is hungry; they’ve been on B.B.’s back since the suns were directly overhead. Now they lie low against the horizon. They have no food, only the armor they wear and the sword at Rey’s back. Their destination is unknown but the determined dragon flies on.

“We should trust B.B. After all, he trusted us.”  
  


  
Ice floes drift with the water’s movement below. They are now farther North after travelling through the day and into the next evening.

Rey curls around Poe to preserve heat, resting her chin on his shoulder. She’s lulled by the steady beat of B.B.’s wings and Poe’s solid presence. He lets her rest, knowing there is danger ahead. Right now, the setting suns bathe the clouds in a rosy gold. Its beauty rekindles a bit of his lapsed optimism. Somehow, Poe believes everyone will be okay: Rey. Kes. Finn. B.B. He has no idea why, or how, but he must believe. His constitution offers no other choice.

Poe squints, making out a shape in the distance too large to be a sea stack among the glaciers. He rouses Rey with a gentle shrug of his shoulder, her name a whisper accompanied by a puff of condensation. She wakes, blinking at Poe’s face so close to her own.

“Look! Land. I think we may be here.”

Relief washes over her. She’s tired, hungry, sore. Freezing. Rey stretches her arms, the joints made painful from the cold and from riding for hours. “Or at least a place to rest and warm up for the night.”

Poe rubs a little snow from B.B.’s ear, “Is this where you’re taking us, buddy? ‘Cause we’ve got to sleep sometime.”

B.B. tosses his head in response, which Poe interprets as a yes.

“Wait!” Rey points to a dark figure receding into a cloud beside them. She and Poe exchange a bewildered glance. They are likely close to the nest. Close to danger.

B.B. increases speed as the icy wind howls. Around them, a tangerine aura forms, shimmering and smoky all at once. Instinctively, Rey retrieves the sword sheathed at her back. The kyber within the hilt is a brilliant source of illumination. Another shocked look passes between her and Poe, then he softens. “You’re right. We need to trust B.B.”

Rey acquiesces, realizing the logistics of swinging a sword now would not work in their favor. Returning the blade to its sheath, she wonders what could make the crystal within burn so bright.

A pointed shape cuts through the cloud- much closer now- and Poe sucks in a tense breath.

Pink cumulous melt away to reveal a person in a primitive, patinaed helmet. Blending into the pastel sunset in their pale green armor, a light-colored cape flow behind them. They deftly balance on the back of a Stormcutter, a great dragon three times the size of the Night Fury. Green and yellow scales stretch into an impressive set of double wings. A hooked weapon fashioned from the bone of a whale or dragon is in the rider’s hands. Never has Poe seen a more ferocious warrior- and that’s saying a lot.

The orange haze remains a barrier around them. Confused, the rider’s head snaps from side to side. Searching.

“He… He can’t see us,” Rey whispers in her Jakku accent.

Orange arabesques float around them like plumes of smoke. So little is known about the stealthy Night Fury. “Must be some kind of camouflage,” Poe mutters, still untrusting.

Ascending higher, the mysterious warrior scans the watery territory. Dipping lower, they extend their hook to skim the surface of a cresting wave as their cape billows behind. The Stormcutter catches their scent over the salt of the sea, grunting as it resumes the pursuit.

B.B. takes the opportunity to flee. Gauzy layer of camouflage thwarted; he flies toward the island at breakneck speed. Poe grins wildly as they outrun the mighty Stormcutter. Grasping his arms around B.B.’s neck, he hangs on as Rey clings to his middle. Adrenaline, speed, and Rey’s body against his back, combine in a powerful thrill. They dodge a cluster of sea stacks. Prosthetic tail fanned out, B.B. spirals. Barely fitting through a pair of the towers, the tips of his wings graze the frost-coated stone.

It’s exhilarating for Rey, too, feeling the power of this beast as he flies them toward safety. Or doom.

Sea stacks form a protective wall around the island, but once they emerge, they get a full view. It’s majestic, with a crown of icy spikes forming around a central mountain. The ice glows with the verdant sheen of reflected sea water when the sunlight hits. A few hearty plants accent the jagged cliffs but most of the coast is bare.

B.B. leads them in, flying low against the shore. He makes a tight turn, swooping into a cave boring into the heart of the mountain.

Reaching out, Rey skims the walls of the tunnel with disbelief as she adjusts to the low light. Something glitters along the passage, twinkling in shades of aqua, green, and yellow. “Kyber,” she gasps. Poe nods, his own mouth agape as the dragon follows a sliver of light at the end of the tunnel.

It opens into a fantastic oasis. Multi-colored flowering vines cover the smattering of boulders. Light enters the cave through a wide opening in the ceiling. A sheet of ice overhead provides insulation. Hot springs provide a reprieve from the unforgiving cold. A waterfall leads into a winding creek where an assortment of dragons laps up the fresh water. Moss blankets every surface, except for the eruptions of kyber. So much life here, amidst a frozen wasteland.

B.B. comes to a landing, allowing Rey and Poe off. Pinning his wings back, he rests his hindquarters on the stone. Poe twists at the waist, his spine releasing a series of satisfying cracks after the long ride.

At the center of it all stands a Rowan tree with a trunk wide as the Dameron cottage. Each leaf dances upon the breeze, catching the light to make the entire tree shimmer. Young dragons chase each other through the air around it. Tumbling and playing with their peers, they chirp happily. Rey’s dimples deepen as she smiles. Poe watches her watch the dragons, momentarily forgetting his exhaustion.

Poe’s chestnut eyes follow the spikes of ice up a wall, admiring their sculptural beauty. They curve vertically, transforming into icicles at the roof of the cave. The silhouette of the Stormcutter from earlier comes into focus. It crouches like a bat, using the hooked ends of his double wings to crawl across the frozen surface. On its back is the helmeted rider. Battle scars adorn their patinaed copper armor, exposing the underlying warm metal. They’re being watched.

Instinctively, he stands between them and Rey, calling her name. Her bejeweled sword is already in her hands as she stomps toward the warrior. Poe is unarmed, but he approaches also. Knowing they have been discovered, the warrior moves to the wing of the Stormcutter. Hooking their weapon on the claw at the end, they lower themselves to the floor of the cave.

“Who are you?” Rey asks. Something tells her they’re not part of The Order. Upon closer inspection, the fabric draped around their shoulders is a salmon pink.

They stand with their weapon ready. No other humans are nearby and there are no signs of any man-made structures. A muffled voice comes from the helmet, “what are you doing here? How did you find this place?”

“Our dragon brought us,” Poe answers. He steps forward, surprised to find the warrior isn’t any taller than Rey. “He flew here on his own. We’re only looking for shelter for the night, we’ve been traveling. We want no trouble.”

For a few silent moments, the warrior appraises Rey and Poe. Both are still in their armor from the tournament, minus the helmets.

“Where are you from?” they ask, head tilted.

“Yavin.”

The warrior freezes, a gloved hand coming up to the crude mouth of the helmet. Staggering two steps closer, that hand reaches for Poe. It ghosts over his jaw, nearly caressing his beard. Stiffening, he shuffles backwards with the scrutiny as Rey looks on with concern. They retreat at this, hesitantly realizing the error of their familiarity. The intimacy of it. 

“We’re from Yavin,” he repeats, “It’s Southwest, at the end of the Archipelago.”

“Poe?” The single syllable is gasped like the first breath after a plunging into icy water.

Rey’s head snaps toward Poe in bewilderment, the twisted locks in her braid swishing. He returns a confused look then leans forward. Making out the face behind the rough-hewn copper holes is too difficult in this light.

“Should I know you?”

“Yes, you should.” Their voice is forlorn. “But it’s my fault you don’t.”

“Who are you?” Rey’s impatience and curiosity gets the better of her. “How do you know him?”

Resting the hooked bone weapon against the wall of stone, they remove their helmet. The wide collar of the blush pink cape is pulled down to reveal the face of a beautiful woman. Tears threaten to smudge the kohl rimming her dark eyes. Exuberant black spirals cascade from her scalp, held securely off her face by a long leather cuff.

“A mother never forgets.”

Silent hangs between them like a tapestry. Each of Poe’s emotions are different colors of thread being woven and manipulated. Jerked and pulled, tugging at his heart. To say this is a shock would be understatement; this revelation is nearly blasphemous. Shara Bey is dead.

Anger flares inside Rey at the cruel ruse. She lifts her blade, brows contracting in annoyance as she grits, “no games. Who are you?”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” The woman sits on a stone pale with lichen and tugs her gloves off with her teeth. A silver glint on her left hand shows that she wears a wedding band. Slowly, the mighty Stormcutter approaches. It nuzzles against her as she wipes a tear away. “And I haven’t done anything to earn your love, but I hope you’ll allow me an explanation.”

Rey gulps, suddenly amidst an impossible family reunion. It almost makes her dream, makes her wish…

Poe doesn’t speak. He can’t look at his mother, not yet. Instead he stares at the patinaed copper mask on the ground.

“Twelve years, and every single day I’ve thought of you. Ever since that night –"

“You left us without saying goodbye,” Poe whispers. He was a child, standing at the cliff, shouting his grief into the wind. “I was eight. And this is where you’ve been?”

“Yes.” When Poe stays quiet, she takes it as a cue to tell her story. “When your father first assumed leadership, we tried to change many things. I believed peace between man and beast was possible, but no one wanted to listen. I was nearly laughed out of the Great Hall… even Kes couldn’t see dragons the way I did.

“Then, when you were little, there was a horrible attack. Cloud Jumper here was our protector. In the middle of it all, he heard your cries and fought off another dragon that was after you. It was amazing to find him offering comfort to an enemy’s child. He was gentle, with the heart of a parent. It confirmed everything I knew in my heart.

“Then Kes came bursting through the door. All he could see were two predators threatening his family. He scooped you up and killed the other dragon before I could say anything. Cloud Jumper carried me to safety, even as I beat on his back and screamed to go back. He didn’t stop ‘til we landed here at the great nest.”

Poe frowns, recalling that helpless feeling. “Why did you stay away? If you learned how to ride dragons, why didn’t you come home?”

“I thought it safer for everyone if I stayed away even though it nearly shattered me. I’ve put my maternal instincts into protecting them for the past twelve years. It was the only way I knew to save lives of both Vikings and dragons.”

Rey’s fingers seek Poe’s as he numbly stares at sprigs of grass straining through cracks in the rock. Mouth tightening to a thin line, he compartmentalizes. What they need is shelter, food. He and Rey need to decide when they are returning to Yavin. He gives a single nod in acknowledgment but nothing else.

Shara gazes at her son, wringing the leather gloves. She recognizes the stubbornness and decides not to push. Instead she looks to the young woman who rushed to offer Poe her hand. “What’s your name?”

“Rey.” Jerking her chin toward the dragon, she adds, “we call him B.B.”

“I’m Shara Bey. Poe’s… Mom, if you haven’t guessed by now. Pleased to meet you.” It’s a clumsy, though heartfelt introduction. Her attention shifts to the Night Fury. “He’s incredible. May I take look?”

Rey nods, and Shara approaches the preening B.B., clucking her tongue. She smooths a hand across his chin and the dragon immediately flops over for a belly rub. Shara supplies one with a grin.

“What does Kes think of him?”

“Dad? Well…” Poe imagines Kes’s mind imploding with the betrayal. “He didn’t take it so well.”

“Not surprising,” Shara grumbles. B. B’s back leg begins to twitch involuntarily with pleasure at the belly rub.

“Mostly because he blames dragons for your death but- “Poe’s arms swoop through the air as his eyes widen- “_surprise_! You’re _not_ dead!”

All three of them remain still for a moment, equally shocked by his outburst.

A wistful huff comes from Shara. She stops, to B.B.’s disappointment, and says, “No. But I’m not the same person I was before.”

A thousand unanswered questions and a thousand unsaid apologies stretch between them. After all this time, he stands before her, silently pleading for truth. 

_So very handsome like his father_, Shara thinks. _Stubborn as a tauntaun too._

Some tension breaks when Rey offers a dimpled smile. A charming scene unfolds in the clearing in front of the giant Rowan tree. Shara’s Stormcutter approaches B.B., sniffing at the Night Fury’s hindquarters. B.B.’s ears prick forward before he makes a friendly trill. More dragons approach, ranging in size and color, all coming to greet him. Soon the sounds of reptile socialization fill the air.

Rey looks on with clear affection for the creature. Her amused laugh even cracks Poe’s stoic expression. Shara’s eyes flit down to her hand. No ring. Poe doesn’t have one either (though she made note of the reddening injury from the Razorwhip’s barbs). She and Kes were married and had been praying for the blessing of children for years when she was twenty. “How did you two…?”

“I found him at Beru Point. He was wounded." Poe begins to explain, not realizing the question wasn’t about their scaled companion.

Shara stands, her blush cape swinging as she gestures to a massive spotted magenta dragon. “This one lost his leg to one of Snoke’s traps.” Her hooked weapon gently lifts the wing of a black and red one with crooked teeth. “This sweet girl had her wing sliced by razor netting.”

An older Hobblegrum with foggy eyes sniffs at Rey. Greeting it slowly, she allows it to become acquainted with her scent. Shara continues, "A tree snare blinded her, and she was left to die alone and scared.”

“You’ve been rescuing them,” Rey says. Saving lives. She can feel the Force around Shara Bey, a little chaotic but so bright it’s almost blinding.

“Yes. I’ve lived among them, learned their secrets.”

B.B. licks a few snowflakes off his tail, bringing Shara’s attention to the brass and leather prosthetic. Brow furrowing, she falls to one knee to examine it. “And I assume this is the work of those trappers as well?”

“Funny story.” Poe scratches at the nape of his neck. “Actually… I was the one who shot him down.”

“It was before,” Rey intervenes, “we got to trust each other and became friends. But Poe made this tail, so he could fly again… he’s very clever.”

His entire body alight with the compliment, Poe’s eyes drop to his boots and stay glued there. Shara watches his response with fascination.

“What do you make of all this, Rey? Surely this is disorienting new information for you as well.”

“I’m thinking that… I know this place. I’ve been dreaming of it ever since I was a little girl. Those dreams became even more vivid after Poe gave me the sword.”

“A sword?” Shara asks, interest piqued.

“Yes, it’s very old... it has a— “

“A kyber crystal.”

Rey’s jaw drops in astonishment. “How did you know that?”

“Dragon nests are always built over kyber crystal. It’s why they’re afraid of humans.”

“What?” Rey and Poe question almost in unison.

“When Vikings discovered kyber, they went in search for more. They mined for it but it’s not detectable from the surface. Somewhere along the line, they realized there was a link between dragons and kyber. Near every cave of the crystal, a nest would be later found.”

Maz’s offhand comment about kyber being the ‘dragon stone’ suddenly makes sense.

“It was easier to stalk dragons than it was to cut into the land searching in vain. This began the war. Like any long-standing war, there were immense losses on both sides. Man would lay waste to the nests and churn up the soil underneath in search of crystalline power. Dragons would burn villages to ash. Consume entire herds of livestock. Roast acres of farmland.”

At that, Rey’s eyes lower in memory of the Jakku famine.

“But Vikings never back down,” Poe scoffs. “So, every time it happened, we must’ve hit back harder in retribution.”

“Exactly. The initial reasons for fighting eventually became irrelevant." Shara shakes her head. "It didn’t matter to man what they battled about, just that they battled each other.”

“You’re telling us that Vikings began this... this feud?”

“A feud? No, that make it sound like both sides are spiteful. This is about survival for dragons.”

“And for Vikings, too! You might not ‘ve been killed by one but many others have.”

“I could never forget that, Poe. But Vikings were storming nests. Destroying eggs, killing fledglings. Then ripping up the land itself to extract something sacred. No. It wasn’t about survival for the Vikings, not in the beginning.”

Rey is gobsmacked. “Our heritage was built on a lie?”

With a grimace, Shara tips a non-committal hand back and forth in the air. “Dragons are more trustworthy than most humans. Animals don’t lie or exploit. Survival drives their actions, not supremacy.”

Poe presses. “How do you know this?”

“I’m not the only human who lives on Ahch-To."


	14. A Couple Dead People

Craning her head in awe, Rey follows the resurrected Shara Bey to the Rowan tree in the middle of the dragon sanctuary. Exotic moths flit from each mossy surface they pass, scattering drops of color among the icicle-studded landscape.

“Wow! Is that a Thunderclaw?” Rey asks when she recognizes a prominent chin on one of the dragons playing with B.B. “Jess would geek out over this place so bad.”

“Yeah.” Wearily, Poe watches Shara’s blush cape graze the ground. The agreement is clipped short, just polite enough to acknowledge Rey while keeping conversation with his mother to a minimum. “She really would.”

Bits of snow make their way into the oasis, coming in through the center hole in the ice, though it’s a mild temperature thanks to the hot springs. Rey is grateful to thaw her frozen joints after their flight but even more eager to eat. Maybe Poe will feel better after a meal and some rest.

Poe’s wild spirit was clearly inherited from his long-lost mother. They are more alike than Rey could have ever imagined, but Poe has still not warmed to her, keeping a tentative distance since she revealed her true identity. Rey wonders how she would feel in his position: Betrayed. Skeptical. Overjoyed. Some nameless, volatile mixture of the three.

B.B. stays outside with the rest of the dragons when they reach the massive Rowan tree. A crown of shimmering leaves sits atop a gnarled trunk.

“We live here,” Shara explains. “It’s hollow inside to house a sacred altar and our living quarters.”

Elaborate carvings don’t imbue the threshold as expected. Its natural elegance is preserved, and that makes sense to Rey given Shara’s mission here.

Poe musters an atrophied smile when they’re waved inside to eat and settle for the night. Grief has reawakened within and he was already reeling from their departure from Yavin. Rey longs to press against his sternum and concentrate the Force through her palm. Soothe the ache.

The tree is even larger on the inside, the ceiling above soars to a surprising height just through the humble arch.

Tree bark swirls around them in rich shades of russet brown. A collection of aged books line up in the place of honor, flanked by rustic candles. The ambrosial scent of blooms at the altar infuse the space with sweetness. Faint purple and blue tints the area, residual glow from the clusters of kyber strewn throughout the walls for lighting. A few lanterns hang but most of the light is provided by the crystals. Rey checks the hilt of her own sword to find it radiant. Indeed, the entire tree and the altar itself pulse with something unique. Pure.

Mouth parted in wonder, Poe chooses to focus on the hospitality and setting. Not the complicated typhoon within at the discovery that his mother is alive. It’s too much to process at once. 

A crude ladder leads up to three nooks carved into vast limbs of the tree. Bedrooms, Rey realizes. Fabric covers each one, a kind of makeshift door. At the floor level- the trunk- a few logs have been carved into simple chairs, with thick furs draped over them for comfort. Motioning for them to sit, Shara steps up the ladder and stops outside a nook covered in green fabric.

“Master Skywalker? Sorry to interrupt your evening meditation,” she speaks through the wool in a hushed tone. “My… my son has come. On the back of a Night Fury.”

In one swift movement, a bearded man throws the flap open. Intelligent blue eyes peer out, landing on Poe with astonished recognition. He’s older than Shara, roughly sixty-five to Shara’s fifty.

Luke Skywalker was originally from the allied island of Jakku. Kes had been one of the warriors sent by Yavin, and the two began a friendship that extended to Luke relocating there when the famine worsened. Hours were spent dancing and drinking, an arm slung around Kes or Han in brotherhood. Luke was a warrior unlike any other. Lean, courageous, smart. Esoteric. It was known he was Force-sensitive, rumored to be Jedi. Kes had even trusted him to train the next generation of fighters. Han assumed the job after Luke never returned from a particularly bloody clash.

Luke still imagines Shara’s son missing his two front teeth, but that’s not the sight that greets him. Time has sculpted the once-awkward boy into a handsome amalgamation of his parents. A strong jaw inherited from Kes sits under a dense black beard, which is cropped tightly to his face. The curls passed down from Shara still pile atop his scalp.

“I can’t believe it.”

Poe responds with a dazed, “you’re not the one looking at a couple of dead people.” Another head pops out of the nook beside them and Poe’s jaw drops again. “Leia too?!”

“Well I’ll be damned.” Luke’s twin sister (and Han’s late wife) Leia pulls back a swath of fabric and laughs as she descends the ladder. Her birthplace of Jakku still shows, in her poncho style blouse and multiple braids. “This is unexpected.”

“Thor almighty, who else do you have in here?” Poe’s head shakes in disbelief.

“It’s just us three and the dragons,” Luke answers as he makes his way down and extends a hand to Poe, who stands briefly to shake it. “Good to see you.”

Rey’s own expression is brittle. She lost her parents young, staying on the barren Jakku after Luke and Leia moved on. Plutt didn’t bring Rey to Yavin until long after both Shara and the twins had gone missing. Everyone had known who they were on Jakku, but she was so young, worked so hard by Plutt already. Surely, they can remember her parents, tell her something about them beyond the slander thrown by her jealous and controlling uncle. She makes a mental note to ask another time as she stands to greet them. 

Luke appraises Force-sensitive woman. A look of recognition passes between him and Leia- not at her identity but of her undeniable energy. Golden light from a kyber chunk bathes her youthful face. Leia nods as if that’s a fitting match for her aura.

Shara introduces them each to Rey, then gestures. “Would you mind please showing him your sword?”

“Of course.” Pulling it from its sheath, Rey obliges.

When Luke sees the blade, he freezes. Only the trembling of his bottom lip betrays the powerful wave of nostalgia he feels at seeing the weapon again.

Rey, ever observant yet suddenly guilty, asks, “it’s yours?” The thought of parting with the weapon brings her an unexpected sadness.

Reverent fingers trace the facets of the crystal, which flickers when he passes over it. Wistfully, he says, “One more thing I thought I’d never see again.”

Leia’s hand pats Luke’s shoulder, and Shara stays respectfully quiet. He takes a moment to reacquaint himself with the weapon, to adjust to the presence of unexpected visitors. These people, a self-styled tribe of three, have lost so much. Rey is unsure if all of their grief is unavoidable, but she empathizes nonetheless.

“Of course, if the sword is yours, I insist—“ Rey begins.

“No, no. It’s yours now.” Luke’s blue eye winks. “I dropped this thing into the ocean years ago. You’d better hold onto it.”

Smiling widely seems too glib for this situation, so Rey thanks him sincerely. It doesn’t feel adequate, but it’s all she can offer in return.

“Where did you find this?”

Poe elaborates, “I found it in an old trunk in our workshop. My dad said he didn’t know where it came from.”

Leia’s lips form a skeptical line. Shara doesn’t buy it either, scowling slightly at the explanation before she disappears into another section of the tree.

“What brought you two here?” Poe asks.

Leia sighs. She gestures for a turn to look at the sword, brow furrowing as she brushes the silver knot work on the hilt. “As the last Jedi, it’s our responsibility to protect the kyber. That means protecting the dragons; they have a symbiotic relationship. We protect the nest from those who would raid it for financial gain. Or influence and conquest. When we learned of its whereabouts, we moved here in secret.”

Rey frowns in concern for this beautiful place. “When the Supreme Leader of Coruscant came, one of his aides befriended us. A dragon trapper named Finn. He told us that kyber influences power than Vikings can have over dragons.”

“That’s true,” says Shara when she emerges with some mugs of tea on a flat plank serving as a tray. “It increases Force sensitivity and they respond to that.”

Steam rises from the comforting herbal brew, warming Rey’s hands when she winds them around a clay mug. “Then they’re looking for this nest. Not just to kill or trap the dragons, but to mine for kyber.”

“Exactly.”

Poe accepts a mug, blowing across the surface to cool it for a moment as he thinks. His mother disappears again, returning with plates of food for the entire group.

Rey devours the savory filet unabashedly. Ripping large chunks from the delicate bone, she stuffs the fish into her mouth.

Poe tucks into his meal with similar gratitude but manners befitting a future chief. After all, his mother is at the table. Shara sits across from him, stealing glances at Leia or Luke periodically. He doesn’t meet her gaze often, focusing wholly on the act of eating. 

“Let me ask you about something,” Poe begins, folding a fabric napkin in his lap after his plate is cleared. His left hand still aches from the Razorwhip’s barbs. 

Luke and Leia shrug.

“When I found the sword, there were some strange old pages in the trunk. We brought them to Maz, but she couldn’t translate it all and said a lot was missing. But it spoke of an annihilation. They’re right here...” Poe trails off when he reaches into his pocket. He’s searching for the sketchbook where he keeps the antique papers. It’s gone. “Oookay. Spoke too soon. They’re not here.”

Leia brings the conversation back, crossing her legs as her intelligent eyes bore through Poe. “Did you lose them? The texts?”

He pales. “Maybe.”

“Was there a strange circle drawn on them?”

Rey leans forward, remembering the puzzling geometric shapes. “Yes. Even Maz couldn’t make sense of it.”

Leia gravely sips at her tea and doesn’t say a word. Something churns in Rey’s stomach at her silence, and her eyes flit to Poe.

“It’s a compass, isn’t it?”

“Sort of. If someone understands what they’re looking at, it’ll lead them straight to us.” Shara drags a hand across her exasperated face. “We have to assume the worst-case scenario. If Snoke is visiting the island and somehow gets ahold of those papers—“

“Ren, you mean?”

“Oh.” Luke’s eyes pinch closed and he winces as if that’s a piece of knowledge he’s long feared. “It’s worse than I thought, if Ren has already assumed control.”

“Excuse me-“ Poe raises his hand like a child interrupting an adult discussion. “Who is Snoke?”

Leia looks stricken, breathing deeply. “He was the Supreme Leader of Coruscant. Until very _recently_, apparently.”

“Look, I trust this Ren guy about as far as I can throw him. I don’t even know if he is who he says he is. Wish I could give you a description but he always wears a mask. All the time. It’s… unsettling.”

“Warriors from the Isles of Mandalore wear helmets they never take off,” Shara adds unhelpfully. Leia smacks her in the arm and she shrugs. “Well. They do.”

“No. This wasn’t Mandalorian. Dad trades with them and this was different. All black. He also carries a red kyber dagger and sword.”

Rey gulps when she thinks about the chilling detachment in Ren’s voice. The sickening offer to purchase her from Plutt. Squirming in her seat, she brushes her palms over the bantha skin covering the wood. She’s safe here for now. With Poe and B.B. With Shara and Luke and Leia. But this place won’t be safe for long.

“It’s Ren,” Luke declares with certainty. “With enough kyber and a dragon army, he can expand his dominion across the Nordic islands—“

“He’s already begun,” Poe responds, recalling the signature crimson spilling across the maps in the Great Hall, “and Yavin is next. My dad just entered an alliance with them called The Order. Right before we left.

“Ren wants to use our people to raid this nest and my dad’s agreed to help. There’s power he craves, he’s obsessed with obtaining. Finn says he’s been searching for something.”

Leia’s shoulders sag, just a little.

“We were afraid that the annihilation foretold is the destruction of Yavin,” Rey adds. “But it’s the kyber he’s looking for, isn’t it?”

Grim images flash in Luke’s mind, of their sanctuary besieged. Axes and picks ripping the land apart, shattering eggs. “Ren must be stopped. Not just for the dragons but for every island in the Archepelago. And beyond.”

“Sounds like he’ll go through Yavin to take what he wants from this nest. We don’t stand a chance against The Order alone, but we might if you join us.” Poe’s elbows rest on his knees and he leans in earnestly.

“And we’ll help defend the nest,” Rey adds, “however we can.”

Shara gulps. After all this time apart, it feels wrong to hesitate granting any of Poe’s requests. But the mere thought of returning to Yavin rips off the scab of loss, even though Shara owes him this. Owes Kes this. She refuses to stand by as Yavin is used. 

“We can’t do this alone,” Poe echoes when the pensive quiet between them drags.

Leia smirks. “You don’t have to.”


	15. Timing Is Important

Following Rey and Poe’s dramatic exit, the bewildered villagers of Yavin had dispersed slowly from the arena. They mingled and gossiped, shocked that the two had made their escape on the back of a dragon. Finally, Han had waved them home on behalf of the heartbroken Kes.

Now, the chief finds himself in his cottage, several ales deep into lamentation. 

Han shakes his head, “I didn’t believe Poe when he said he shot down a Fury. You know how young guys can be, trying to impress everyone...”

Kes doesn’t answer, slumping deeper into his seat with a groan. Han props him up, concern forming when a series of harsh bangs rattle his door. Kes’s face lights up with fragile hope. “Poe?”

“Sit tight, I’ll get that.” Han scrambles to his feet, handing his drinking horn to Kes (who now has one in each hand). The door opens to reveal Ren. Helmeted, as always, darkly chic in a cloak. Snowflakes cling to his shoulders, their white purity a contrast to the black wool. Just behind him, the sour-faced Admiral Hux waits.

“My aides are missing,” he declares in a heavy monotone without so much as a perfunctory greeting.

Scrunching his features, Han shrugs. “I’m sorry there, Ren, but I have no idea.”

“Captain Phasma and Finn. They’ve been missing since the tournament.”

“Okay,” he answers. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“The chief available?” Hux asks.

Emboldened by the alcohol, Han leans against the doorframe to block their access. “No, he’s not. His only son has—”

Kes tosses one empty horn onto the simple floor of his home. “Let ‘em in, Han.”

Begrudgingly, Han moves aside as Ren stomps through the threshold. Hux is on his heels, snapping the door shut loudly. The Supreme Leader approaches Kes. “Chief Dameron.”

“Supreme Leader.” Kes is crumpled in front of the fire, responding without looking away from the flame.

Han intervenes, hands clasped together. “It’s been a long day; We’ll take up a search in the morning.”

“I have something to show the chief,” Ren hisses through his metal mouthpiece. Reaching into his cloak, Hux procures a leather sketchbook.

“That’s Poe’s! He draws his inventions in there.” Kes reaches for the leather sketchbook but Hux doesn’t relinquish it. Kes frowns. 

Instead, Hux thumbs through the charcoal-smudged pages. It lands on a sketch of B.B.’s mischievous face. Pausing for a moment, he examines the schematic of the tail prosthetic. Hux tugs the ancient sheets out and flattens them along the crease. “We know how to reach the nest.”

“Now we strike,” Ren declares, bringing a fist down into his palm for emphasis. “And you make good on our agreement.”

Kes carefully accepts the yellowed papers, staring at their foreign diagrams and captions in a dead language. “What is this?”

Han cranes over his shoulder, also trying in vain to decipher it.

“It’s the only hope you have of finding your son alive.” Ren plucks the sheets from his hands. “We’ll need Yavinese forces for the raid. Warriors, longskips, provisions.”

Han crosses his arms. “How would Poe even know how to read this? The kid’s a blacksmith, not a sage.”

“He knew how to ride a dragon,” Kes responds. Apparently there is much he doesn’t know about his boy- a notion that sobers as much as it saddens him.

“The girl.” Hux snaps the sketchbook shut. “What do you know about her?”

“Rey? She’s a baker. When she’s not training, Plutt has her slingin’ dough,” Han replies.

“And her lineage?”

Kes squints reddened eyes, not following. “Her parents died on Jakku before her uncle brought her here.” A cold front has descended on the island, as evidenced by the remnants of snow forming puddles around his guest’s boots. “I know Poe can fend for himself. And Rey, she’s tough. Smart. But in this weather…”

Seizing the opportunity, Ren pushes. “The very lives of your son and the dear girl are at stake here, Chief Dameron. Is there anyone who may have helped them translate this text?”

“Maz the Seeress, maybe.”

Han agrees, “worth a shot. I can take you to see her tomorrow. When the chief is… feeling better.”

With a curt nod, Hux acknowledges the offer. The sketchbook disappears into a pocket of the admiral’s garment. “Very well. Tomorrow.”

Determination molds Kes’s features. “How long until you can get forces here?”

“Four days, on favorable seas.”

——

Bitterly, Poe rubs at his palm. The barbs from the Razorwhip’s tail passed through cleanly, but his wounds were never tended after the tournament. The ache has grown, subtly festering while his attention was elsewhere.

“Luke will sleep downstairs with you,” Shara explains, laying another bantha skin on the floor of the Rowan tree. “Rey can have his bed.”

Dim kyber glow illuminates the living space. He arranges a pillow on top of the skin and stretches his legs out. Armor shed, he’s in the plain tunic and pants worn underneath.

“Are they still talking?” he asks, titling his chin toward the door. After dinner, Leia and Luke had asked Rey to accompany them on a walk. She’d been excited to learn more about the Force from the twin Jedi, enthusiastically following them out of the tree.

Poe suspected it was also to allow for some time alone to clear the air. They can’t avoid it forever. 

“I’m sure they have a lot to talk about,” Shara shrugs. She raises a pillow, fluffs it, sets it down again in a way that is not at all natural.

“She’s so powerful.” Fondness comes over Poe’s exhausted face when he talks of Rey. “You should see the way she moves in the arena. Like a Valkyrie.”

“Luke used to train fighters. I’m sure he and Leia would be more than happy to take Rey under their wing, so to speak.”

He hums. It would be invaluable.

Shara tucks a few wild curls behind an ear. “Are you and Rey…”

Red flushes Poe’s cheeks as he remembers kissing with passion in front of all the spectators before the tournament. Soft lips and delicate fingers along his beard. “Not officially. But we’ll get there. It’s just… there’s a lot going on right now.”

“Right. Timing is important.” An understanding smile spreads across her face. “Don’t wait too long.”

Amicable silence settles around them. Leaning back with a sigh, Poe feels his weary muscles call for sleep. Shara curls her knees to her chest on a log-carved chair and watches him shift in discomfort. He kneads his palm around the puncture wounds with a hiss.

“Looks painful.” Shara points toward the reddened skin he’s subconsciously clutching. “What happened?”

“Razorwhip got me during the tournament.“

“We need to clean that. Come on.” Shara opens the door, tugging Poe up from the floor by his uninjured hand. Night has ensconced the island of Ahch-to, only interrupted by the smattering of kyber constellations. Through the center hole of the ice ceiling, real stars shine against a backdrop of the darkest ink black.

Ever faithful, B.B. is close to the Rowan tree. When Poe emerges, he nuzzles against his shoulder with a coo. Cloud Jumper- Shara’s Stormcutter- is curled nearby on a bed of moss, snout tucked under a wing in a restful pose.

Shara leads Poe to the freshwater stream that cuts through the heart of the cave. He plunges his hand into the frigid water, shaking it briskly as the inflammation gives way to stinging. Shara scans the foliage for a remedy, finding one quickly. Kneeling, she breaks a tendril from a vine with striped leaves. B.B. inspects it with a sniff, then laps up some water.

Scraping the underside of the leaves with the end of her dagger, Shara collects the clear liquid on the tip of the blade by the light of a blue kyber cluster. Once a suitable amount is on the end of the blade, she runs her thumb along it. With a grimace, she presses into the first of Poe’s three puncture wounds. “How are you holding up? I know this is a lot to take in.”

“Yeah,” Poe says, more laugh than word. The plant extract burns, despite the numbness. “It’s not every day you find out your dead mother is alive and is actually a feral vigilante dragon lady.”

“Well, it sure beats being dead. …for me, at least.”

A slow grin spreads across Poe’s face as Shara cradles his hand. It’s larger than hers now, marked with the scars of a man who does honest work, but the same hand she held before.

“You know, you were born early. So small. Maz said babies that young rarely survive- but your father never doubted you. Not for a moment, even though we had lost others. He told everyone you’d grow up to be the strongest man on the island.”

Poe can’t speak. Perhaps some of the vulnerability of prematurity has always stayed with him.

Shara’s lip trembles. “He was right.”

Letting out a dry, uncomfortable huff, Poe ducks his head. “Don’t let Dad hear that, it would go to his head.”

“I’m serious. You and Rey… You’re standing up for what you believe in. Standing against tradition. It’s brave. Don’t forget that.”

Tears shimmer in Poe’s eyes. He’d cried, shouted, begged Odin for a chance to hear words of encouragement from her again in his darkest moments. “Mom…”

Meeting him halfway, Shara embraces Poe. He’s utterly unprepared for the crash of emotion when she squeezes. Tears flow in earnest as he rocks her side to side, as though stillness isn’t an option in the tide of joy and pain. 

“My boy,” she sniffles with a hand on his cheek. 

When he opens his mouth, the words are bottlenecked. Questions and stories pile up in his throat, tightening vocal chords until only a shred of distilled truth can escape. “I missed you,” he whispers, tasting salt from his own tears. “I missed you. I missed you.”

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

Bleary and weepy from Poe’s softening toward her, Shara finally shuffles back after an undefined stretch of time simply holding her son. Despite all odds, he found his way to Ahch-To. She swipes a knuckle over her eyelid to clear the moisture.

“You know, the night I left, when I looked into Cloud Jumper’s face…”

“Everything changed,” Poe supplies.

Shara’s voluminous curls shift as she nods. Cloud Jumper trots up and purrs a greeting. “I gained a purpose here- one that hasn’t been fulfilled yet.”

The corner of Poe’s mouth wavers somewhere between pride and pain. She’s wise and empathetic. He only got to experience eight years of that because she chose to live in a reptile’s den rather than in her family’s cottage.

“I figured the Force brought me here for a good reason. I learned about the dragons, taught them Vikings weren’t all bad. That’s when they began to eat banthas instead of people, so give me some credit.”

She’s funny, too, though his smile is fragile. A sparkle on Shara’s left hand catches Poe’s attention as she pats the regal creature on the chest.

“Mom? Come home with me. Please. Dad has never stopped loving you. Not for a single minute.”

“My work here isn’t done.”

“But we can do more together! We can save the dragons, stop the war, stop Ren. Dad needs you now. He’ll listen to you—“

“No he won’t! I love that man, but your father is the most stubborn person on the planet. That’s why I stayed here, because I’d have better chances of convincing an animal than convincing my own husband.”

Poe snorts. “He’s doesn’t know what’s happening. Yavin is in real danger! He deserves the truth about everything, even if you don’t stay.”

_Stay. Stay. Stay_, his heart shouts.

For a long moment, Shara regards him. They share an affinity for dragons, a rebellious spirit, and untamed hair. They share love for Kes Dameron. Shara understands the risk of taking such a headstrong lover, but instinctively approves of his relationship with Rey.

“If you truly believe the Force brought _you_ here for a purpose, then it brought Rey and I here for one, too.”

It’s said with such conviction, she can’t argue. Shara’s eyes mist in admiration. “Kes raised a good man.”

Beseeching her, Poe closes his non-injured hand over hers. “Then come back to Yavin with us and tell him yourself.”  
  



	16. Just A Stray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this fic despite the long hiatus! 
> 
> And much gratitude to Olpgurl for Beta Reading. 🖤

Finn stirs on a makeshift bed of straw shared by an irate bantha. Adrenaline has infused every breath he’s taken since the start of the tournament. After a day spent on-edge, he plummets into a heavy sleep. Unfortunately, even dreams don’t provide a respite from the stress of being a fugitive. 

Within his dream, Finn finds himself in front of the Great Hall. Sleet stings his cheeks as the Force shows him what the future holds. Brutal mercenaries with The Order round up the entirety of Yavin, and barricade leaders of the community inside. Supreme Leader Ren stands in front of the massive doors, drawing in a breath before holding out his hands. Four dragons surround the building, one for each wall. 

Manipulating the dark energies of the Force, Ren commands the dragons to begin. Wails rip through the air as flames engulf the building. Those watching go belligerent, but mercenaries prevent them from dousing the flame. With snapped fingers, the sadists command the dragons to devour the troublemakers whole. Others stand in shock, or shield the eyes of their children. The next morning, villagers spared from the fire hang their heads low. The damage is more vivid by daylight.

At once, Finn jerks out of his dream and back into real-time peril. With a creak of the barn door, light floods his face. On instinct, his flail is in hand as soon as his eyes open. Finn struggles to make out the figure backlit by the first early morning sun. 

“Freezing out here,” a voice creakier than the door gripes. “Should’ve borrowed a saddle blanket since you’re already cuddling the animals.”

Finn releases a sigh that forms a white cloud, shoulders dropping as he lowers the weapon. “My apologies, Seeress. I’m in danger and didn’t know where else to go.”

“Let’s get you inside.”

Finn thaws by the fire with a bowl of porg noodle soup leftover from Maz’s dinner. He sits on the floor, recounting the details of his Force dream. As he clarifies the danger they are in, she notices he’s still shivering. Oftentimes his Force visions are strong enough to feel the phantom surroundings. Even now, the pelting sleet lingers on his cheek. Finn is taken back when the tiny woman stands and drapes a crochet throw across his shoulder. People are different in Yavin. Kinder. ”Thank you for the meal and the shelter. I know I’m practically a stranger—“

“Sometimes when you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people.” 

Finn blinks at the interruption, not wanting to offend his host. 

“What I’m saying is,” Maz continues, “you are no stranger.”

A heavy set of knuckles raps at the front door. With each knock, glass bottles in her apothecary rattle. Finn’s eyes dart to her as fear rises like bile. He whispers, “Did you … invite someone?”

“Did I invite _you_?” she asks him with a pointed expression. 

Finn’s head jerks back. Not another semantics game. “You know what I mean. Are you expecting anyone?”

Maz doesn’t answer as she crosses to the door. She can’t be serious, considering what they’ve been discussing. Finn waves at her in a plea to stop. The door is ajar in a moment, and all breath suspends within his throat. 

Nearly tripping on one of the tiny stools around the table, Finn lunges behind the shelves. Smarter than risking crossing the line of sight from her threshold. Sweat runs down his forehead, despite the gust of snowflake-scattered wind. 

“Han!” Maz admonishes, saying his name out loud for Finn’s benefit. “You brute. Banging down my door so early.”

With an apologetic half-smile, Han says, “Sorry to disturb. We were hoping you could help with something urgent.” 

“Of course. Is this about what happened at the tournament?”

Kes, Admiral Hux and Ren join Han outside the door. The answer is clear with one look at Kes. Anxiety has carved upon the chief’s brow, which droops over sleep-starved eyes. He holds a small basket of eggs, offering them to Maz. Accepting them, she pecks his cheek when Kes bends down to envelop the tiny woman in a hug. “Come on in, I was just—“

She turns, expecting to find Finn still shivering before the fire, but he’s vanished. A bottle of dried lavender wobbles precariously from the shelf. It offers the only clue about his presence. 

Kes pauses, waiting for her to finish her thought with a puzzled look before he enters. When the men do, it’s only after ducking through the doorway. They don’t even attempt to sit at the miniature recreations of furniture. 

“Just about to pour a cup of tea,” Maz improvises to recover. “Can I get you any?”

“Yes. Black,” Hux barks. 

“Pardon?”

“The Supreme Leader takes it black,” he clarifies. Said man pushes past even before Kes has the chance to make the introduction. 

Kes frowns, already embarrassed of the men who he’s brought to the elder’s home uninvited. “Thank you, Seeress, that would be lovely.”

Ren pivots on his heel, turning to examine her as he warms in front of the fire. The same distorted voice filters through the helmet when Kes introduces the two. The men tower over the petite woman, who peers into the shadow veiling this stranger’s eyes. They are disturbingly familiar. 

Fear twists her stomach as his giant hand overtakes hers in a curt handshake. 

Fragmented visions of violence overwhelm her senses. Flames consume the Great Hall; the heat penetrates her skin. A chilling snap cuts the air as the charred roof beams collapse. She swallows, actually feeling the irritation of thick smoke in her lungs. Maz Kanata is a keeper of light. Healer, midwife, seeress. She will not allow this bloodshed. Instead, she grits her teeth in hopes of learning how to stop it.

After sorting the introductions, Maz excuses herself to the kitchen. Her wrinkled fingers tremble as she plucks a handful of teabags from a jar. Finn flattens against the shelf, swearing under his breath. Now she understands the young defector’s fear. The mysterious man warming himself by the hearth is more dangerous than any dragon. 

“You saw it, Ren’s plan,” he whispers from the other side of the shelf. The scent of straw still clings to Finn’s woolen cloak. A hand absently brushes over the Order insignia emblazoned on the shoulder. “Now you know what’s at—“

Before Finn can finish, Han’s voice calls out. “Lemme help you with that.”

Maz shoos him away with the wave of a dishcloth. Finn shrinks behind the shelves. Until he’s sure no footsteps approach, he holds his breath.

She retrieves the kettle and the tea, leaning against the shelves to whisper to Finn. “I’ll create a diversion, you sneak out through the window in my room.”

Finn hopes they’ll be lucky enough to get past the cunning officials, or they’re both dead. “You can’t help them follow Rey and Poe. Not yet.”

“But if our chief asks for my guidance—“

“I have an idea, but you need to buy us time. Please. Don’t tell them anything.”

Returning to the group with her kettle, tea and mugs, Maz hangs the pot over the fire. She positions herself close to it, tending the flame with the shift of a log. 

Kes makes his plea as the water heats. “We need to find that Night Fury’s nest, and quick. If Poe and Rey are —“ he flinches. _Alive_. If his only son is alive. “—unsheltered, they’re in trouble. The ice storms are coming and we need to get these kids home before they freeze. Two of our guests from Coruscant are missing as well. Three search parties left at dawn, but we are hoping you can help.”

Admiral Hux procures the book with the cryptic pages from his cloak. He stoops down painfully low to reach the table, and fans the curling pages out next to the basket of apology eggs. 

“Did Poe ever ask about anything out of the ordinary? Did Rey? Please…” Kes’ face is weary. Han wrings his hands, clinging to hope. 

Maz has watched Kes Dameron grieve before. She’s blessed the graves of babies so eager to join the world, they were not long for it. She wept with him over Shara. Losing Poe would shatter the man’s heart or turn it to stone. 

Han being at his side is no coincidence. Not only are the men life-long friends, but Han knows the anxiety of having a missing son. Maz had seen that, too. Han lost his teenager on a fishing trip a few years back. At his funeral, Maz led the village in prayer. Another son of Yavin gone too soon. Remembering Ben still hurts Maz. He’d always been such a bright boy, astute and gifted in the Force. A pupil of hers. Maz recalls the jolt of terror from shaking Ren’s hand. The unsettled feeling runs deep, chilling her to the bone when memories of Han’s son Ben creep in. 

Maybe it’s just Maz’s guilt. 

“I haven’t seen them, Chief Dameron,” she answers, adding that she has no clue of the whereabouts of Finn or Phasma. Maz traces the lines with a finger, as if it’s the first time she’s seen the bizarre diagrams and faded symbols. Misleading Kes feels wrong, but the Force is screaming to her. Finn is right: it’s imperative Poe and Rey remain hidden from a Yavinese or Order search party.

Ren lurches forward, hovering over Maz’s shoulder. She’s dwarfed, stepping back instinctively. The crimson glow of his kyber scabbard falls across her face. Ren crowds in, barking, “What do they know? The location of the nest? You’ll tell us.”

“I don’t know anything.” 

Tension thickens in the room, and Kes presses. “Poe trusts you… You’re sure they never asked about dragons? Nothing?”

Ren’s fingers ball into a fist. A brutal crushing sensation siphons all air from Maz’s frail body. 

She had planned to feign a sudden dizzy spell as a diversion for Finn- but this is no act. Behind her magnified glasses, her vision blurs. Her head lolls back, shoulders swaying as she struggles. 

Kes steadies her with a firm hand against her arm. “You alright?”

Across the room, Finn seizes the opportunity. A bottle wobbles on the shelf for a precarious moment. It crashes to the floor as he flees from behind the shelves. 

Ren releases the Force hold. Maz takes a desperate gasp as Kes cradles her. She waves him off, acting as casual as possible. “I’m fine.” 

Kes is dubious. Above her head, he and Han exchange a glance. There’s mutual confusion at the crashed bottle, the sudden gasping fit. 

“What was that?” Hux asks over the concerned questioning of Han and Kes. “Is anyone else here?”

“A tooka...” Maz explains weakly. Anything to distract from her bedroom and the young man crawling out its window. “Always knocking something over.”

Han squints. “Didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Just a... stray I brought in from the cold.” Close enough to the truth. She needs to get rid of Ren, and fast. Maz goes limp in Kes’s arms.

“Maz!” Han rushes over, with a hand against the woman’s forehead. “You okay?”

Hux and Ren don’t seem to care about the medical emergency happening. “I didn’t know they kept animals indoors in Yavin.” Hux’s nose crinkles in disgust. “Though I suppose I’m not shocked.”

Ren steps toward the small pile of glass shards and dried lavender on the floorboards. The man doesn’t move to assist in cleaning it. He only stares in quiet contemplation before his impatience hits its boiling point. “Enough! Tell us about the girl!”

Han stands, fists clenching. “Easy there…”

“Tell us!” Ren demands. “We don’t have time for this nonsense. My army is approaching now. We need all the information before mounting our attack. So I ask again: What are those kids doing with dragons?”

Kes positions his body as a shield between Maz and the towering Supreme Leader. The men are eye to eye, Kes staring into the helmet's shadows. “Give her a moment. I won’t allow you to speak to an elder in that tone, Supreme Leader.”

“Might I remind you--” Hux begins, but is interrupted by Kes’s deep tenor.

“Might I remind _you_ that you are guests on our island.” Kes scowls, chin lifted as he fills his broad chest with an indignant breath. “Even in the most dire of circumstances, elders deserve respect.”

Ren stays silent, helmeted façade tilting for a moment before he nods. Kes forces himself to maintain diplomacy. Yavin needs The Order, even if their leader lacks any manners. They are his last hope in finding the dragon nest, in finding his only son. 

Maz clamps a shaky hand over Han’s forearm. An outpouring of steam bursts from the kettle as he guides her to a tiny stool. She prays this has been the diversion Finn needed.

Kes directs Han to jog to a neighbor’s home, so someone can watch over the ailing woman. He leaves immediately. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Maz laments without looking up from the wood grain of the tabletop. “I’m quite alright, lightheaded is all.”

“No apology necessary.”

“I can’t help find your boy, Chief.”

Kes removes the kettle from the heat and pours hot water into Maz’s mug. “I appreciate you trying, regardless.”

With a petulant huff, Ren turns on his heel and stomps toward the door. He nearly bends in half to fit through the threshold. Hux follows him in a hasty exit. Despite her advanced age, Maz can hear a grumble of “useless old fool” before her front door closes. 

“I apologize for the way he spoke to you, Maz. Thank you for the hospitality but we need to begin arranging the search party and you need to rest.” Before Maz can protest, he’s sweeping up the shattered remnants of the bottle. He dumps the dustpan into a bucket of refuse kept in the kitchen. “Is there anything else we can do before we go?”

“Oh no, thank you.” Maz pats the top of his battle-scarred hand. “For what it’s worth, I believe Poe and Rey are safe.”

Kes’s chin quivers under his beard. “From your lips to Odin’s ear.” 

The door closes behind him and with a pang of guilt, Maz wonders if Kes realizes she’s lying. She’ll have to find a way around the newcomer to warn the chief of her ghastly vision before it’s too late.

A blanket of white snow covers the roof of the barn where Finn waits for the cover of night. Maz looks out the window, hoping he makes use of that saddle blanket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So no Rey or Poe in this chapter, and not a dragon in sight. But they’ll return soon!


	17. Daresay Stupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy DamereyCreationsWeek! 
> 
> Tags have been updated so take a look if you need.
> 
> Be aware this chapter takes a darker turn.

Finn decides against waiting for the cover of night; time before the blizzard is too scarce. Maz returns to the barn with a small sack later in the morning. Inside, Finn finds few pieces of bread and fruit, and a leather cloak. He pulls it on quickly, noticing the orange embroidery over the left shoulder.

“It’s Poe’s,” Maz explains. “That’s the crest of Yavin. I figured you need all the protection you can get.”  
  
“Did you— “

“Snuck into the Dameron’s workshop,” she replies with a wink.

Finn laughs. “Okay then. Anything else?”

“You may borrow one of my saddles and a blanket, but I expect them to return in good condition.” Maz waves a finger in Finn’s face before drawing in a sigh. She sits on a stack of hay, pursing her lips. “Sure you want to do this? Awful dangerous… daresay, stupid.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Finn confirms. “It’s the only way I’ll make it to them before Ren’s forces arrive.” In his palm, the yellow shard of kyber shimmers. Rey and Poe were able to tame a dragon despite knowing nothing about channeling the crystal’s power. He should be able to do this. Finn returns it to the small woven pouch hanging around his neck. “But what am I supposed to do if they don’t want to be found? Or if they won’t come back to help?”

“You think Rey and Poe ran away?”

“I don’t know… I heard the chief say that Rey would be his daughter-in-law one day. Seems like he approves of their relationship to me.”

Maz thinks for a moment. “They wouldn’t abandon us, not now. Go! Find them. I’ll find a way to warn the chief of my premonition when he is alone.”

With a promise to do his best, Finn sets off for the arena after tucking the flail into the sack. He crunches through the rapidly deepening snow with a saddle under one arm. Bitter cold infuses his bones, despite the added layer of Poe’s cloak and the blanket across his shoulder.

Soon, Finn reaches the training arena. Frost has settled on the iron bars, and the beasts within are silent. No sparring today. Slipping around the back, he finds a scorched gate. Behind it waits the Razorwhip that ate his commanding officer.

Finn can trap a dragon. He can direct them, somewhat, through vigorous training. Never has he placed his trust in one. After all, his constant vigilance is what kept him alive around them.

The kyber glows as he approaches, catching the attention of the dragon. “Hey girl, remember me?”

A puff of smoke coils around the creature, obscuring its mirrored scales. Finn inches toward the cage, reminding himself that Rey and Poe connected with this one. He saw it for himself. That is, before it swallowed Phasma whole.

Best not think about that part.

“I… don’t know if you can understand me. Your nest is in danger. I need your help to protect it.” In the corner of the cage, Finn notices the breastplate Phasma wore. Teeth marks and dents warp it into an almost unrecognizable shape. Queasiness rises again. Amethyst eyes examine him, and the Razorwhip’s tail barbs stand at attention. “I let you out, you bring me to the nest. I don’t hurt you. You don’t eat me. Deal?”

He does not have a key, so he grabs an axe from the selection of weapons hanging on the wall. With a single swing, he severs the lock. The dragon on the other side remains still, suspicious of the strange visitor.

“By the way… you’re wearing this,” Finn adds, pointing to the saddle. “I am not chafing the whole trip to the nest and back- however long that is.” He prays it’s close, yet well-hidden.

Finn uses his provisions to form a trail leading out of the cage. With patience and a few chunks of smoked fish, he coaxes the dragon out step by step. Eventually, she exits the protective bars. Finn reaches out with trembling fingers and rests a hand on its sharp snout.

“Okay. There’s a good dragon. Good dragon,” he repeats with wide eyes. “This is totally normal. Talking to dragons, petting them. Riding them. Tooootally normal.”

* * *

  
The tattered ends of Maz’s scarf trail behind her as she stomps through the snow. Light scatters across the mirrored scales as Finn takes off on the Razorwhip. It fills her with hope. Finn has demonstrated the greatest of courage for them. Maz resolves to inform Kes of the depth of the defector’s bravery when the time is right.

Soon, the Razorwhip’s silhouette melts into the horizon as Finn trusts it to fly toward the nest. Geriatric joints cry for her to return to the warmth of her cottage, so she doesn’t delay. When she reaches the crest of the hill, Maz lifts the soggy yarn of the scarf and winds it around her neck with a grimace.

She is nearly home when distant motion draws her eye. Fingers clumsy with numbness adjust the brass findings of her glasses and the scene begins to focus: a handful of figures dart back and forth around a dock in the distance, loading weapons and a couple packs into a langskip. Suralinda rests a hand on the carved dragon sneering from the bow. She directs Snap and Karè to coordinate the turn of a large trunk while Jess fusses with the sails. Their movements are swift, punctuated by furtive glances back toward the village.

No one is wishing them safe travels; no navigator joins their group.

That is not an official search party, Maz realizes with a start. They are going after their friends without the blessing of the chief or their parents. In fact, Yavin is all but deserted as the frigid wind howls and whips the snow into a pale flurry. No time for the inexperienced to head to sea.

“What’s wrong with kids today,” she grumbles. Now she must reach Kes immediately, though the plan was to intercept him alone. As she ambles toward the Great Hall, Maz keeps an eye on the group. Running won’t make a difference- particularly at her age- but a skilled sailor can catch them if they pursue the young Vikings soon.

Maz cuts through an alley in the center of the village that will lead her to the Hall faster. Kes is likely in a strategic meeting, but it’s worth interrupting. She rushes past the guest lodging with her head down, on the chance an Order officer is milling around. Upon her next step, Maz’s body freezes as if encased in an ice block. Horrified, she pushes, willing her legs to move, her head to turn. Nothing.

It’s no mystery who restrains her.

She struggles, but an unseen Force holds her in place. Ren keeps her suspended for a moment with a raise of his hand, before her small frame crashes into the white powder. 

“Tell me the full translation.”

Even after a decades of training, she is unable to fortify her own energies enough for a proper defense. Pain lances through Maz’s nerves.

“That is not a request,” Ren sneers. Focusing on Maz’s memory, he burrows into her brain. Glimpses of the past blur in a timeless swirl as Ren searches for his quarry. A lifetime of service to Yavin flashes in the terrified old woman’s mind. He pulls the memories away, reaching for the knowledge he came for. 

And finds a vision of Maz, weeping over a grave. Ben Solo’s grave, empty after he went missing. His grave. 

Maz sputters as he loosens his grip.

Ripping his helmet off, Ren reveals the face of the boy she once knew now twisted with maturity and experience. Long, dark hair falls in front of his predatory eyes. Unmistakably him, yet fundamentally different.

“B— Ben? It can’t be,” she mumbles in shock when she finds herself able to speak.

Hearing his given name sends his anger to a peak. Under her snow-reddened hands, the ground shakes. Instinctively, Maz cowers as Ren roars, “I needed a teacher! You knew how powerful I was, even as a child. You were afraid of me. Luke was afraid of me. My own mother was afraid of me.”

“We were trying to protect you… I saw too much darkness. Then when you went missing, I blamed myself. I thought it we had taught you more, maybe— “

He kneels low, meeting her terror-flooded eyes. “You were right to be afraid.”

“Ben! Please don’t do this,” Maz begs. “Yavin is your home, this… is… your…”

He rips the translation from her mind before she can finish. Kes is not here to protect her now. “An annihilation. Huh. Well, you’re right about one thing: this is my home. Pity you won’t be around to see the changes I’m making.”

With a flex of Ren’s crushing fist, Maz Kanata’s vision fades to black.   
  


* * *

  
“How exactly are we going to leave in a blizzard anyway?” Rey asks pointedly. “Flying in this is ludicrous.”

Poe looks to his mother; Rey has a point. He’s just been too flabbergasted by the rest of today’s events to notice yet. But there is no denying the powerful wind howling through the hole in the ice canopy. It whistles through the space, sending the branches of the Rowan tree dancing. A storm like this is deadly in the water, he imagines it can only be as deadly in the air.

Shara crosses her arms, amused at the challenge in Rey’s tone. “You don’t trust the Skywalker twins?”

Poe butts in, “what I think Rey means is that we have concerns.”

“Your dragon has a smokescreen.” Shara yawns. Rey and Poe exchange a confused glance. It takes Shara a moment to remember she isn’t speaking with experts who’ve lived among dragons for years. “The screen, it’s almost like an orange cloud, you’ve seen it around your Fury?”

Rey nods in fascination. “Yes, just barely. It seemed to make us almost invisible. But what is it?”

“It’s camouflage, but also serves to insulate the dragon against the weather during flight. Leia has a theory it’s charged through their exposure to lightning when they fly through storms. Luke isn’t entirely convinced yet,” Shara explains. “If you’re on his back, you’re in the bubble. Trust me. If you’re riding into a blizzard, your B.B. is the dragon you want to be on. “

Poe is dubious. That sounds like the opposite of safe. “What about the rest of you?”

“Honey, we’ll be fine. Remember they breathe fire, so we’ll stay warm enough. And they don’t navigate by sight so visiblity isn’t a concern when they’re low enough to be caught in the snow. Besides, between the smokescreen and the storm you’ll be undetectable from the ground on Yavin. It’s an advantage you’ll need to land safely.” Shara turns back toward the Rowan tree and gives Rey another smile. “Luke is about to begin tonight’s meditation … will you join us?”

An enthusiastic ‘yes’ should be Rey’s reflex when it comes to this opportunity. Instead, her gaze flicks to Poe before she answers. His stomach flips at the brief but enigmatic look in her hazel eyes.

Sensing the energy between them, Shara makes a hasty exit before either can answer. “You know, actually I bet the two of you have much to talk about… Wild day and all. Just come in quietly when the crystals by the roots glow blue.”

Shara turns from her bewildered son with a smirk and jogs back toward the Rowan tree. Poe releases a stifled laugh. Anything to break the tension. “Well… that was certainly insightful.”

Rey shakes her head and loops her arm through his. Eager for some time alone, Poe and Rey make their way along the mossy paths. He guides her steps through patches of lichen, though the traction in her new boots makes it unnecessary. As they walk, they recount the day with disbelief. When they rest, Rey’s head lies on his shoulder, loose hair pooling gracefully.

A steady column of snow falls in through the hole in the cave’s ice ceiling. It is much denser as the blizzard approaches but the flakes still melt in the temperate climate, ultimately mingling with the creek. Moonlight shimmers on the flakes as they fade away. It’s a concert of color, rare blooms and crystal. The beauty feels at odds with the fact it is endangered.

B.B. has paired up with another dragon, a speckled blue Runter that Leia calls Artoo. The mischievous duo stalks another dragon, a golden Shimmerwing named Threepio. While B.B. distracts him, Artoo snatches a juicy herring from his claws with a victorious squawk.

Poe watches fondly, knowing they can only enjoy a small taste of this peace before they must protect it. They have a few precious minutes alone before they need to return to the tree and rest. The group plans to leave early in the morning, weather and dragons willing, so he savors the intimacy.

Rey sighs, watching the flakes vanish as they are swept into the warmer air. “It’s going to be hard to leave tomorrow.”

“We’ll come back,” Poe reminds her. “The twins want to train you, remember?”

“I… I’m not really looking forward to going back to Yavin. I mean— I want to help— I…”

Poe furrows his brow. “Wait. You want to move here? Ahch-To?”

“It’s perfect,” she states plainly.

Suddenly, he feels much less enamored with the dragon oasis. He pulls away from Rey’s touch. “That’s it? You’re going to leave? Like my mom did?”

Rey is struck by the hurt in his face. “You… you could stay here too, Poe.”

“I have responsibilities. My family has ruled for generations. My dad needs me. I couldn’t.”

“I don’t have a family. Just an uncle who is trading me for two slaves. To Ren. If I go back to Yavin, that’s what’s waiting for me.”

“What?!” Poe shouts. He stands, walks in a circle and fidgets as he tries to process his information. B.B. snaps up from a half-eaten fish carcass, head tilted. “What are you talking about? My father outlawed any kind of slave trade along the entire Archipelago. That… that wouldn’t happen.”

“Ren tried to buy my hand in marriage,” Rey explains as tears threaten to fall. “At first, Plutt said I was more valuable running his business. Then Ren offered him two girls from Hays Minor in my place. He said he’d force them to be discreet.” The last word is foul in her mouth. She stares at the ground in disgust.

Anger ignites in Poe’s veins. Plutt’s exploitation of Rey, of anyone, was over. “He doesn’t own you! No one will force you to…”

Rey holds her hand up. Rough fabric brushes her palm as it connects with his sternum. The action does not settle him immediately, but he quiets as his nostrils flare. A sudden gust of wind curls around them, cold enough to make his teeth ache. When their eyes meet, the fury in his subsides somewhat. When she is sure she has his attention, her voice is clear and serious. “Ren will kill you. If he gets a chance, he won’t hesitate.”

“Then I won’t give him a chance.”

“I’m serious.”  
  
They both know she is right. Poe is an obstacle in more ways than one and Ren is not a man to underestimate. He dries a single tear on Rey’s cheek with a gentle drag of his thumb, willing himself to be calm for her sake. “When did you learn this?”

“I overheard them in the bakery when I went to change before the tournament.” Poe’s eyebrows shoot up and Rey quickly adds, “they didn’t see me.”

“You know I’m not staying here. We have to warn my dad. It’s a risk, sure, but this is our home.”

“Of course,” Rey answers. “I’m just afraid I won’t be able to protect you if things get ugly.”

“I understand. But it’ll be okay.” It stings a little. Only because Poe wants to be the one to shield her from the perils and pain of the world. Protect her from men like Plutt and Ren who see her as something to be harnessed. Not because she is weak, but because she is worth defending. “You’re wrong, by the way. About your family.”

“It’s true. Plutt is the only living family I can claim. I barely have memories of my parents.”

“No. You do have a family. Han and Chewie and Karè and Suralinda and Snap. My dad adores you. My mom’s taken a shine to you already,” Poe explains, eyes full of unwavering loyalty. Reverently, he takes Rey’s hand. “That’s your real family.”

Silence settles between them, heavy with the graveness of their situation. If they fail, it will mean the fall of Yavin, of the dragon nest, of the Dameron family line, and of Rey’s own autonomy. If she fails, it will mean the death of the person she loves above all others. Twisting her tunic between the fingers of her free hand, she stares at Poe. “What about you?”

“And me.” The answer is simple yet liberating in its honesty. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Rey admits with a small step forward.

Emotions rush over Poe, as intense as his first time skimming the clouds. Love is just as dizzying. Rey loves him. Heart swelling in elation, he pulls her close. They have been on this journey together for some time, but now it has a name.

Breathing becomes an afterthought when Rey closes her mouth over his. It is not from impatience at his lack of verbal response- she honestly cannot resist the look of devotion on his face. Momentum builds, with soft pressure growing passionate as they fall into each other’s touch. Poe’s words blur when they break apart, muttered against her lips. “I promise I’ll protect you. Plutt will be locked up. Along with Ren. We’ll lock up anyone who thinks they can treat another person— “

“Shhhh...” She relishes the comfort of their embrace as another gust of icy wind scatters goosebumps across her skin. If only they could enjoy the serenity of this island for another day. One more impossible day.

“I’d never make you stay if you didn’t want— “

“I know.” Rey throws her arms around Poe’s neck as she silences him with another earnest kiss. Tears spring to the corners of her eyes. She cannot imagine being apart, even in a place as idyllic as Ahch-To. The realization is terrifying to someone so independently natured.

He senses it, pulling back to rest their foreheads together. “You’re the strongest fighter we have. Yavin needs you. I need you. But… what do _you_ need?”  
  
She caresses Poe’s dense beard, committing the texture to memory. “Just be with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I hope the love confession helped balance out the angst of Maz. I have no idea how to write a story that isn’t an emotional rollercoaster. 😬🙈


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